


Babydoll

by StarsBurst



Series: Edwardian Companion AU [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Natasha Romanov, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Companions, Edwardian Period, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Historical Accuracy, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Pet Names, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Reader-Insert, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spanking, Steve and Bucky have a lot of money, Suffragist Movement, Worldbuilding, bisexual reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-21 11:44:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 65,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8239894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsBurst/pseuds/StarsBurst
Summary: In 1906, following the Industrial Revolution, two wealthy “bachelors” - Captain Steven Rogers and Sergeant James Barnes - decide they want to share a Companion. (Additional tags will be added as they arise. There will eventually be smut.)





	1. October 7, 1906

There was something about the building that Bucky detested: it left a foul feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure if it was the black stone; or how unnecessarily tall it was in comparison to the church beside it; or the large, recently-shined, golden plaque by the front door: _The Howard Stark Companion Home for Young Ladies, est. 1891_. But something about it was rubbing the Sergeant the wrong way, and he couldn't quite figure out why.

“Buck, everything will be fine,” Steve soothed, after seeing the frown appear on Bucky's face. “If you don't want to look here, we can go somewhere else. I'm sure there's more than one House in Brooklyn.”

“There isn't,” Bucky said with the shake of his head. “We're almost in Manhattan as it is. The next one is in Albany, unless we go into Jersey. You really wanna go to Jersey, Stevie?”

The expression on Steve's face was clear: the trip from Brooklyn to Albany, or into New Jersey, was not something either man desired. The carriage ride from one end of Brooklyn to the other had already been stressful enough. People weaved in and out of the streets, walking and yelling and running. Fellow drivers – coachmen, and higher class, and others – rode on carriages, and in the new contraptions called motorcars, and atop bicycles. Several times, they'd both considered simply getting out and walking the remainder of the way.

“Here we are, sirs,” the coachman, some young man barely old enough to enlist, informed. Steve paid him a dollar as he and Bucky stepped onto the sidewalk, before the carriage slowly rolled away.

“We are _walking_ back,” Bucky hissed into Steve's ear a moment later.

Once Steve had a proper look at the building, something moved. One of the curtains covering a ground floor window shifted just enough for someone's eye to poke through – before it returned to its normal place. It was mid-morning on a Sunday, so it was most likely a servant instead of a pupil, who would – no doubt – be in the middle of a service.

“We're certainly in the right place,” Steve commented on the golden plaque as the two of them walked up the front set of stairs.

Bucky took the knocker and rapped it against the door a few times. “I should hope so. It's certainly gloomy enough to be a House – or an orphanage.”

“Buck,” Steve chided softly, before the door was opened, and a young parlor maid of about sixteen answered. As miserable as the outside of the building appeared, her uniform was tidy and well-made, save for a few scuffs on her apron.

“Sirs?” she prompted. Both Steve and Bucky tipped their hats.

“My name is Captain Steven Rogers,” Steve replied politely, “and this is Sergeant James Barnes. We have an appointment with the head of this House.”

Bucky, having barely noticed the minuscule bronze plague underneath the larger golden one, added, “A Madame Potts?” He gestured to the sign, which read, _Overseen by Madame V. P._ _Potts_. The young maid nodded before stepping aside to allow them entry, then ushering them down a nearby hallway.

Bucky had to admit: the House appeared much nicer on the inside. Everything was pristine: shiny, scrubbed tile floors; marble pillars that held up the ceiling; winding staircases (also polished), and sturdy-looking doors. He couldn't see a speck of dust anywhere. There were several framed pictures down the hallway, each with a small bronze or silver plaque: the most recent one stated, _Howard Stark Companion House, January 15, 1906_ , and featured roughly thirty or forty young women from ages ten to twenty or so, each in the same House uniform. It was only the first floor, but if the rest of the House was up to this standard, it might not be an awful place – not like some of the other Houses Bucky had heard about.

At the end of the hall, there was a door with another bronze plaque – _Madame_ _Potts_ – and the maid knocked quickly. “Madame, Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are here.”

“Send them in,” a female voice called. The maid opened the door for them, dropped a curtsy, and allowed them to slip past her before she closed it.

The office was equally nice: a large oak desk, covered in neatly stacked papers; several wooden chairs; a large window with long red drapes and a black lounge chair under it; and a few other pieces of furniture, including a clothing rack and a steel safe. Behind the desk, to both Steve's and Bucky's surprise, was a thin, poised red-headed woman in her mid-thirties. (Bucky had been expecting a vulture-like woman with a hooked nose and deep wrinkles.) She stood when they entered – she was quite tall – and she politely shook both of their hands before they sat in two of the chairs in front of the desk.

“Captain. Sergeant. I'm so humbled that you would choose this establishment,” Madame Potts said with a small smile after she took her own seat. “You would be surprised by the amount of people who choose to go to Albany instead, based solely on the outer appearance of this building.”

“The Dracula's castle motif wasn't intentional?” Bucky asked before he could stop himself, and Steve discretely kicked his ankle.

Thankfully, Madame Potts laughed. “No, it was. Mr. Howard Stark has an _interesting_ sense of humor: he thought a Companion House with an outward appearance such as ours might ward off anyone who would bring harm. And this was the largest building for sale when the House was established: we wanted to make sure a necessary amount of space was available for any Companion who met our requirements to live here.”

That made sense to Bucky, and he nodded along when Steve inquired, “Would it be possible for us to have a tour?”

“Absolutely,” Madame Potts said, before she added, “But there are a few things all of us need to discuss beforehand, so we are all under the same impressions.” When both Steve and Bucky politely waited for her to continue, Madame Potts nodded. “Is this your first visit to any sort of Companion House – for either of you?”

Steve shook his head. “No. A dear friend of mine brought me along to a House in England previously, when she was looking for _her_ Companion... but this is my first visit as a someone searching for a Companion.”

When Madame Potts looked at Bucky, the Sergeant shook his head. “I've been to a few Houses before, not as a Keeper, but...” He shrugged. “And, and my younger sister became a Companion.”

“My congratulations,” Madame Potts said with a sincere smile. “Where did she attend?”

“The Mjolnir Institute for Female Companions,” Bucky admitted. “She was a charity pupil. It's in —”

“Asgard, Virginia,” Madame Potts interrupted softly. “I have visited there: it is a wonderful establishment. They treat Companions well there. Several of our former pupils teach there now... but you both understand what an establishment such as ours is intended for then? A Companion House is not an orphanage, or a brothel, or some kind of _pound_ for humans. The girls here are bright and talented and educated. They are not meant to become maids, factory workers, or some kind of back-alley whore. They are Companions. They will be treated as such.”

“We understand completely, Madame Potts,” Steve said. It was clear by how suddenly firm Madame Potts' voice became, that she felt incredibly strongly about Companion Houses – which only attested to the goodness of her character. Steve felt himself warming up to Madame Potts, and so could Bucky.

“Have there been issues against this establishment in the past?” Bucky inquired.

“Not with us, no. And we have had no issues with any Keeper who has found their Companion here. But, as you should know, S.H.I.E.L.D. works diligently to eradicate any sort of House which abuses or mistreats their Companions.”

Bucky and Steve nodded solemnly.

Companions held a very special place in society. They were usually women (but sometimes men) who were essentially adopted, or “kept”, by another family or singular person. That was the easiest sort of explanation, but each Companion leads a different life. Some are adopted by wealthy families with no children of their own, in order to become their heirs. Some become spouses to those who want someone to cherish and love. Others are kept by couples or families as someone to protect and watch over – as neither a child, nor lover, but merely a Companion (hence, the name). And others lead a type of life somewhere between those lines. Regardless, those who kept them (dutifully nicknamed Keepers) always made them a beloved member of the family, _not_ a slave. Having a Companion in one's household, after all, was a privilege, _not_ a right. And Companions remained in the special Houses, where they are given an education – a higher one than children in an orphanage could obtain – and a place to stay until they find their forever home where they could thrive.

“You mentioned in your letter, Captain Rogers, that both you and Sergeant Barnes wish to share a Companion?”

“Yes,” Steve answered while Bucky said, “That's correct.”

Madame Potts nodded, then said, “Let me assure you: I have no problems with two men sharing a Companion.” There were implications behind such an act, of course, but the world was round and changing every day. “But if I ever believe your Companion is being mistreated, by either of you, she will return _here_ , and you both shall be banned from having a Companion ever again. Have I made myself clear?”

It was incredibly rare for a (former) Keeper to be banned from having a Companion. It involved an obscenely large fine, varying degrees of social disgrace, and – typically – a jail sentence.

“We understand, Madame Potts,” Bucky said firmly. “You do not need to worry.”

“I had better not,” Madame Potts said, carefully moving her chair back and standing. “Now, shall we start with the tour?”

**~ *~**

Despite its morbid appearance, the House was – without a doubt – a beautiful establishment. There were several floors, and each seemed to serve its own purpose. The ground floor held several offices including Madame Potts'; a modestly decorated dining hall with two long tables for pupils, and one medium table for faculty; a large parlor for biological families who might visit the girls (or potential families such as Steve or Bucky); and the entrance towards the kitchens. There was a decent amount of noise coming from behind the kitchen door; Steve and Bucky assumed the servants were hard at work with making lunch, so they declined Madame Potts' invitation to look inside.

The second floor had one room full of various musical instruments, along with four other rooms that were easily identifiable as classrooms: each had a large blackboard, large windows, and between five to ten desks. Madame Potts explained that they separated the girls based upon their academic skill and their appropriate age range.

“Since all of our students are, technically, charity pupils, some of them took the placement exam verbally, because they couldn't read. Others could read, write, speak different languages. We wanted to make their education as fair as possible, and each Companion has made definite progress since their admittance to the House.”

“What sort of curriculum do the girls study here?” Steve asked politely as they headed towards the third floor. “Sergeant Barnes and I understand that each House has a set academic plan for —”

“Steve and I would like to know if we ought to hire a tutor or not,” Bucky interrupted. “In case our Companion has been taught how to properly serve tea, but not mathematics.”

Even though he was thinking the same thing, Steve shot Bucky a glare – and probably would have attempted to cuff him upside the head, were Madame Potts not present. She didn't appear remotely offended by his bluntness, however. In fact, she seemed to appreciate their questions.

“The core curriculum includes mathematics, English, grammar, penmanship, history, geography, and biology. We also have special courses beyond that for the Companions to choose from: music, dancing, home economics, art. In the spring, the more athletic girls perform in sports: tennis and swimming are the most popular,” Madame Potts explained as they passed four large bedrooms, each with a differing amount of beds. The smallest bedroom had five: the largest, twelve. There were a handful of clothing presses, and a trunk at the foot of each bed. Bucky frowned at the sight of the cramped spaces, and Steve held back a sigh by the extremely dark palate of each of the bedrooms.

“The four instructor bedrooms are on the fourth floor, along with the servants quarters, and the fifth floor is the attic and additional storage for furniture,” Madame Potts said, gesturing for them to follow her back down the stairs.

“How many Companions are currently here?” Bucky asked.

“There was a large fire at the other Brooklyn house two months ago.” Steve shot Bucky a look at Madame Potts' words. Bucky – who did not have Steve's impulse control – actually cuffed Steve lightly around the ears. Madame Potts did not notice. “Several of the Companions who lived there were transferred to Albany or brought here. Most of the ones here have requested to be transferred to another House in Maine with more space, which is understandable, but the paperwork involved to move over ten Companions across state borders...” Madame Potts let out a sigh. “I know for a fact everything won't be ready until after Thanksgiving, so until then, there are thirty-two Companions here. We normally cap out at twenty.”

“It's quiet for a House with thirty-two girls,” Steve admitted as the three of them reached the ground floor, and Madame Potts began to direct them into the parlor.

“They're in church right now, either in mass next door or at the Protestant church down the street. There have been a few young women in the past who were Jewish, or who wanted to stay in the same denomination as their families, so we try to accommodate that when it occurs.”

“Steve here is Catholic,” Bucky said, a slight tease in his voice as the two of them sat down, and Madame Potts checked the grandfather clock, “but I don't go as often as I ought to.”

“The girls should be returning some time soon, if you're both willing to wait and speak with any of them. I will be right back: I need to grab some things from my office. Shall I send for some tea – or coffee?”

The same parlor maid brought out a tea tray of small sugar cookies, a pot of coffee, and three cups nearly fifteen minutes later, just as Madame Potts returned from her office with a large stack of files. “From the letter you sent, Captain Rogers, you said neither of you had any preference towards age?”

“Steve and I both agreed to have someone who is at least eighteen,” Bucky stated firmly.

Madame Potts nodded, sitting in one of the parlor chairs and delicately placing the stack onto a low table nearby. “Each House has specific rules concerning the age of girls who are eligible to become Companions. In this House, unless they are going to be legally adopted as a child of the family, a Companion must be at least eighteen and in good health.”

“We have no preference towards physical appearance, or family history, or, um – anything else?” Steve looked at Bucky for some type of verbal assistance. Bucky was too busy watching Madame Potts straighten the stack of files – and counting how many there were. Ten.

“These are the files of the girls who, to my current knowledge, fit your personal requests and our requirements for Companionship. It includes their academic records, medical records, disciplinary records, and desires from any family who keeps them... Is there anything else I ought to know?” Madame Potts asked politely.

“She will be the only Companion we will be keeping,” Steve admitted, “but she will not be the only Companion in the house.” When Madame Potts looked surprised, Steve attempted to backpedal: “I, I realize some girls might want to be the only —”

“The current Companion in our house is Natasha Romanoff,” Bucky stated, his voice polite but firm. “My parents were her Keepers. They took her in, so I might have a friend and a sibling – after my sister went to Virginia, and my two younger brothers had died from influenza. She is my family, nothing more.”

After a moment, Madame Potts nodded. She quickly combed through the stack, then immediately removed two files and placed them beside her: a rejection pile. She combed through a second time and removed a third folder. From the hall, Bucky and Steve caught the sound of the front door opening, and it wasn't long before the sound of soft chattering began to fill the House, even though none of the girls stepped into the parlor. By the sound of it, they immediately trudged up the stairs towards their shared bedrooms.

When Madame Potts looked back up at Steve and Bucky, the Captain suddenly felt rather self-conscious about the remaining seven folders.

“Um, what else should we let you know about?” Steve asked, lowering his voice unnecessarily. Madame Potts gave him a small smile.

“Some of the girls have no preference towards what kind of relationship they will be having with their families, and others do. Whether they are expecting to be married, or merely kept as a Companion? That might be a good place to start.”

Steve scratched his nose for a moment, a vague sense of nervousness filling his stomach, and Bucky reached over to give his knee an affectionate squeeze.

“Neither of us will be marrying our Companion,” Bucky said gently. The implication behind his words was obvious, but Madame Potts gave no sign of surprise through her body language or facial expression. Instead, she merely nodded.

“I detest having to ask this, because it is something rather private.” Madame Potts sighed, rubbed her own nose a little, and eventually inquired, “Is there any possibility – any at all – that either of your relationships with your Companion will involve anything sexual in nature?”

Steve's face suddenly felt very hot: not from anger, but embarrassment. Bucky was the only soul who knew of his dual attraction to both men and women – though he had a gut instinct that Natasha might know as well. And, as far as Steve was aware, he was one of the few people who knew that Bucky shared the same attraction towards both sexes. He did not dare look at Bucky, but if he had, he would have seen the Sergeant's hands clench a little and his expression become more reserved.

“I shall not judge you if you say yes,” Madame Potts said, her voice void of any negativity. “I have overseen this House for almost ten years, and I have seen many things. I only ask so any Companions whose files you see – and, with luck, the Companion whom you chose to keep – will understand the _possibility_ is there, though not _guaranteed_. Should anything arise, however, I understand that the two – or three – in question would discuss everything beforehand, so it would all be consensual.”

After several uncomfortable seconds, with the only sort of sound coming from an upper floor or from the small stream of girls still arriving through the front door, Bucky eventually murmured, “The _possibility_ is there.”

“But not guaranteed,” Steve amended quickly, and Madame Potts nodded before she checked each of the files again, then handed both Steve and Bucky two separate files.

“Here are the four files I think you both will find acceptable. If there is one which strikes your fancy, I can have one of the maids call her down from upst —”

“Ow, ow, owww!” a female voice cried from the hallway – or perhaps the staircase? – as two pairs of footsteps made their way closer to the parlor, with one set sounding distinctly unwilling. “My earrrr!”

Madame Potts, with the stack of six folders beside her, pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, “Not this again, please, not now.”

Bucky was struggling to keep from laughing. From the way Steve suddenly found the ceiling quite interesting, he was having the same problem. Deciding that feigning obliviousness might be the most polite route, Bucky quickly opened the top file, pretended to read, and immediately ignored the words in front of him in favor of listening to whatever would occur. (If the Sergeant were to look at Steve, he would see that his Captain had the same idea, though Steve's fair face was still quite pink.)

From the edge of his peripheral, Steve saw Madame Potts rise from her seat and walk out of his view – but, luckily for him and Bucky, not out of the room as the two pairs of footsteps finally entered the parlor. “Amelia, let her go. What happened?”

“We had a _problem_ at the end of mass,” a voice – different from disheartened tone from earlier – said primly. It sounded too young to be an instructress, but it certainly wasn't a child: both men assumed it was one of the older girls, perhaps even one who desired to teach, who had been put in charge of the younger Companions when they went out o' doors.

“There was a _mouse_ ,” a second, and distinctly more pouty voice, muttered.

“It's an _old_ church: of _course_ there will be mice,” the woman called Amelia scolded in a rather haughty way, before Madame Potts said, “Amelia,” in a firm tone to silence her. It didn't work.

“Madame Potts, she _cursed_ in the middle of mass and _threw_ a _hymnal_!”

“I would never throw a hymnal!” the second stubbornly defended. “It was a _Bible_!”

“That's _worse_!” Amelia argued. “You threw the Lord's Scripture!”

“Priest O'Malley said that all music is a prayer to God, and prayers are the most sacred thing in the world! I didn't want to throw a hymnal when it's full of people's prayers —”

“The Lord's _Scripture_ is much more important than a silly old hymnal!”

“And if I threw my hymnal I would have lost my place —!”

“Stop!” Madame Potts intervened firmly, and both girls grew silent. “Amelia, go upstairs and help the younger girls into the dining hall for lunch. Now.” Steve heard a set of footsteps walk away, and there were several second of silence. Bucky turned a page over in the file, even though he hadn't read a single word of it. Steve, who would make a horrible detective or sleuth, hadn't even bothered to open his own folder and was merely staring at the cover. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was sitting by the organ, up above everyone else, because Priest O'Malley and Priest Benedict said —”

“I know the priests at the church allow you to play the organ during the Sunday services,” Madame Potts said, her tone soft but also urging the pupil to continue with the story.

“Oh, right. I _was_ listening, Madame Potts, _honest_. I was listening to every word he said during his sermon, and I could tell he was almost done, but then I heard a noise, and I looked down, and there was a _mouse_ right beside the organ. A mouse!” It was clear by the girl's tone that she was terrified by mice – or detested them.

“Is Amelia right? Did you curse when you saw the mouse?” It was clear by Madame Potts' tone that she wasn't even remotely amused, even though Bucky was struggling not to laugh at the image in his head of what had clearly occurred in the church next door. (He was also imagining the horrified expression Steve would have had, if something like that had occurred while _he_ was in mass.)

“Yes, Madame Potts... And, and I did throw a Bible at the mouse, to try and squish it, but I missed, and it ran off.”

“Did anything else happen that I should be aware of?”

“... The church was silent after that, and the Priest stopped in the middle of everything – so I suppose people heard me. Then the Priest said for everyone to turn into the hymnal for the closing hymn. I was going to apologize at the end of the service, but Amelia grabbed my ear when I got off the organ bench and dragged me out.”

Madame Potts sighed. “So. You threw a Bible at a mouse in the middle of mass, and you swore. In a church, when you were supposed to be quiet and attentive to the priest.”

“... Yes, Madame Potts.”

There was a small pause, before Madame Potts sternly said, “Into my office, and go stand in the corner, hands on your head. I will handle this when these two gentlemen leave. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Madame Potts.” And by how quickly the girls' footsteps clamored away from the parlor, she had clearly run towards the currently empty office. Both Steve and Bucky finally raised their heads from the files to see Madame Potts rubbing at her temples before she moved back to her chair.

“I apologize, Captain. Sergeant. Some of our Companions are more... mischievous than others.”

“Naughty sounds more accurate,” Steve murmured to Bucky, even though the Sergeant could tell that Steve was amused by the whole thing.

“As you were saying, Madame Potts?” Bucky interjected.

“Yes. Those are the four girls who shall best suit you both, I think. If neither of you require my immediate assistance, I had planned on staying and answering any questions that might arise, but — with the current matter at hand —”

“Please, we shall be fine,” Steve said kindly.

Madame Potts nodded. “I will be back in twenty minutes or so. Thank you for your patience and understanding.” She calmly collected the rejection pile and left them in the parlor with the remaining files. Once there were no more distractions, Steve and Bucky found it much easier to concentrate on the files in front of them.

Almost immediately, Bucky placed the top file – the one he had initially pretended to read, for a girl named Lydia – into a rejection pile on the table. He understood that academic pursuits were not meant for everyone; sometimes they were a struggle, and there was no shame in that. But, for _their_ Companion, a consistent academic report of F's, D's, and low C's over the course of several years was unacceptable – especially since this particular Companion had come from a well-to-do family.

Meanwhile, Steve did not comment on Bucky's mumbling about academic excellence, and “how could they allow this to go on for so long,” and “a D in English, Steve, English! She doesn't speak any other languages!” Instead, Steve also set his top file, for Kristen Wright, into a pile: a _perhaps_ pile. There was nothing in her file to bring a definite “no” from Steve, but there hadn't been anything that had perked his natural curiosity. Nothing had jumped out and stated, _This is your Companion_.

Bucky took a few more minutes with his second file before rejecting it as well. Nothing had spiked his interest within Samantha Anderson's folder, and unlike Steve, who was probably willing to interview a Companion with a mediocre file, the Sergeant had no desire to play nice. When he noticed Steve snickering while reading the last folder, however, his interest was peaked.

“Someone caught your eye, Stevie?” Bucky teased, taking Steve's _perhaps_ and placing it straight into the _rejected_ pile. Steve silently handed over the last file with a grin, and an intrigued Bucky immediately began to devour it.

The family background section was the first thing he noted, and he wasn't overly surprised with what he had found. Born in 1886. A poor family, with both working parents, and two older siblings – before they all passed away, prior to her twelfth birthday. (He inwardly cringed at seeing “scarlet fever” beside her brothers' name and “influenza” beside her father's, followed by “factory accident” beside her mother's.) Her application for entry in 1898 was included, and under additional information, someone – an instructress, no doubt – had written: _If not accepted, her future, no doubt, will involve a factory or an Orphan Train._

Her grades were quite good. According to the file, her initial placements in math and reading had been adequate enough – and relatively nonexistent in every other subject. Now, her lowest mark was B- (biology), with the rest ranging from B+ (geography) to an A with two pluses (music). Several instructors over the years left comments on how hard-working or sharp she was. He noted that she excelled in many right-brained activities, such as music and reading, but seemed to work diligently enough in her other studies.

What stuck out the most was the last few pages of the file: the disciplinary record. Considering that she had been with the Stark House for almost ten years, it wasn't _too_ long... but it was much longer than what he expected from a “good” student. And rather detailed. There were multiple cases in 1903 of sassing the musical instructor. In 1900, there were no less than four occasions of “asking Priest Donahue sacrilegious questions about the Bible during Sunday school”. There were two separate instances of “cutting off several inches of her own hair with sewing scissors”. And, from 1902 to the current, there were at least ten instances of “sneaking out of the House to play the Catholic church organ at 2am”.

The final page of the file was directly from Madame Potts: _As naughty as this record makes her appear, she does not hold a single malicious bone in her body. She is merely curious, mischievous, and – occasionally – in need of a firm hand._

“She sure sounds a lot like you, Stevie,” Bucky teased, and Steve kicked his ankle again. Then Bucky noticed the pensive expression on the Captain's face. “What's wrong?”

“Buck, what if she doesn't want us?” Steve asked in a soft tone. After all, until this moment, the thought hadn't occurred to Steve – that any Companion who he and Bucky would like, might not want them back.

“We'll jump that hurdle if we get it, Stevie,” Bucky soothed as Madame Potts, looking rather tired, re-entered the parlor.

“I do apologize for my absence,” Madame Potts said, then she noticed both men were smiling over one file. “Have you both —?”

“Would it be alright if we speak with this young lady, please?” Steve asked, offering the acceptable file towards Madame Potts, who walked over and gingerly took it from the Captain's hands. Almost immediately, she let out a deep sigh.

“You are _positive_?”

“Absolutely,” Bucky said. “Is there something wrong?”

“No,” Madame Potts shook her head, “She is merely standing in one of the corners of my office for swearing during the middle of a church service.”

Oh. OH. Bucky could not hold back his laughter at that, no matter how deeply Steve was frowning at him. Instead of commenting on it, Madame Potts merely took up the other files with a small eye-roll and gestured for them to follow her back down the long hallway towards her office.

 

 


	2. October 7, 1906

“Please take a seat,” Madame Potts politely directed, gesturing towards the lounge chair under the window after handing Sergeant Barnes the acceptable Companion file. Once she had opened the door, the soft sound of sniffling and hiccups had become apparent to both Steve and Bucky – but neither of them commented on it, since Madame Potts was unaffected by the noise. They sat down, Steve nervously adjusting his cuff links, as Madame Potts walked across the office, pausing momentarily to deposit the additional rejected files onto her desk.

In one of the farther corners, there was a short Companion, with a large navy bow in her hair and her hands on her head. Steve could see her pale skin and make out a mop of short, dark brown curls underneath the bow, but he couldn't see more of her features from where he sat. However, he got a better glance at the Stark House uniform.

Each House had different types of uniform for its Companions, for various reasons. They brought a sense of unity to a House. Uniforms helped dismantle any sort of social hierarchy between the girls – particularly between girls who might come from higher-class families, and girls who did not (or girls who no longer had families). A uniform also helped easily identify Companions when they went outside: it aided police in returning the to their specific house, should a Companion become lost, or run away, or (in the rarest and worst of cases) get kidnapped. Because there were Companions of all ages within a House, most uniforms held a rather juvenile style to them. The length of a hemline could typically aid in providing how old a Companion was, but that was never guaranteed: most Houses usually kept the hem length the same after Companions reached a certain age, for simplicity's sake.

The Companion in the corner wore a navy blue and dark green plaid pinafore with billowing sleeves, underneath a thin gray smock with a small ruffle at the hem, tied around her natural waist. It held a vague resemblance to the uniform of many private girls' academies in New York (which wasn't very common for Houses), and Steve could tell the clothes were taken good care of. Still, he felt a little disgruntled at the purposefully dark colors, but he knew that was merely the artist in him complaining.

Madame Potts calmly placed her hands on the Companion's shoulders, carefully letting her know it was alright to lower her arms, before speaking low into the Companion's ear. Because the room was so quiet, the men could hear Madame Potts well: _“There are two gentlemen here who wish to speak with you. Go say hello.”_ Her voice held no malice, and she gently shepherded the Companion in their direction.

Without much prompting, the small Companion quickly shuffled over to where Steve and Bucky sat. It took most of Steve's sense of self-preservation to avoid picking her up, setting her in his lap, and giving her a cuddle. The poor girl's face was rather pink, with a puffy rim under her large, brown eyes: the obvious signs of many, many tears. The hem line of her frock was more appropriate to a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl rather than a twenty-year-old Companion, but her legs were covered by black stockings, and her feet in worn, black button-up boots. (Steve assumed, given how scuffed up they were, that the girls each had one pair of shoes and only received newer ones if they broke.)

She planted herself in front of both of them, give a polite little curtsy, and murmured, “Hello. How do you do?”

“We're both well,” Bucky said, flashing her a full-tooth smile, and Steve knew at once that Sergeant James Barnes was _not_ going to leave Stark House without this Companion if she gave her consent. “How are you?”

“Sore,” she pouted, her tone obvious, and she sniffed. “But I'll be alright. Are you both here from the church?”

Steve shook his head. “No. My name is Captain Steve Rogers, and this is Sergeant James Barnes.”

“It's nice to meet you,” she said, almost automatically, then she added, “Um, I, I don't understand. If you're not here from the church, then why —?”

“They're considering keeping you as a Companion,” Madame Potts spoke.

Her eyebrows came together at that proclamation, before she plainly asked, “Why?”

“Why what?” Steve asked.

“Why are you considering me?” she repeated. Her tone wasn't demanding, or offended: just curious, and a little sad. “I cause too much trouble.”

“I don't mind mischief so much,” Bucky said with a kind shrug. “It keeps life interesting.”

“I ask too many questions.”

“That just means you're smart.”

“I, I can't have children,” she added softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Steve had noticed the word _hysterectomy_ under the girl's medical history when he'd skimmed it earlier (along with chicken pox and the occasional seasonal cold). Dr. Banner – a dear friend of theirs – had informed the two of them about the recent medical marvel weeks ago, when it was published publicly: a surgery that removed a woman's ability to have children. Clearly, given by her reaction, someone had rejected her previously over one “offense” or another – perhaps even all of them.

“Neither can Stevie here,” Bucky teased softly, “and I still live with him.”

She smiled a little when Steve gave a gentle kick to Bucky's shin.

“We aren't concerned with having children,” Steve tacked on, his voice full of kindness. “We read through your file, and we both would like for you to be our Companion.”

The girl's eyes widened. “You do? Both of you?”

“Yes, both of us,” Bucky said calmly. “Would that be a problem?”

“Oh, no, not at all, sir!” the little Companion said, shaking her head wildly. For a moment, Steve thought her bow might fly off her head. “I was just surprised!”

“Were you worried that nobody would want you as a Companion?” Steve asked softly.

A crestfallen expression swept across the girl's face, and she looked at the floor. As it that weren't confirmation enough, she tacked on, in a rather listless tone, “People don't want Companions who can't have children.”

“You and I know for a fact that's not true,” Madame Potts interrupted, her tone slightly scolding. To be honest, Steve and Bucky had forgotten she was in the room, even though _they_ were in _her_ office. “Who told you that nonsense?” When she didn't receive an immediate response other than a small shrug, the woman added, “I am not on the floor: raise your head, and look at me when I am speaking to you.”

“Mr. Osborn,” the Companion said, and Madame Potts let out an unladylike huff.

“That man,” she muttered angrily, then added, “I'm going to telephone his estate right now: he is not to return here, under any circumstance. Excuse me.” Without any further word, the unwavering and immovable Madame Potts left her office.

After several seconds of silence, the girl's voice filled the empty space: “He came looking for a Companion to be his son's wife... I guess I wasn't good enough...”

“Then he's a fool,” Steve said, surprising himself with his own bluntness.

“And the two of us are not, and we want you,” Bucky added.

A wide, full-toothed smile broke out across the girl's face, before she said, “What should I call you? Sir?”

“This isn't the army. You don't need to call us sir,” Steve smiled. “Steve works fine for me.”

“You can call me Bucky, sweetheart,” the Sergeant said. When she giggled, he asked. “What's funny?”

“How do you get _Bucky_ from Sergeant James Barnes?”

“My middle name is Buchanan,” he explained, even though he felt a little pleasant rush at the sound of their Companion saying his name. “Now, the important question is what should we call you?” Then Bucky noticed the pout that immediately arose when he said her name. “Did I mispronounce it?”

She shook her head. “No... but I don't like my name.”

“It's a very pretty name,” Steve tried to soothe, but she only shook her head.

“I don't like it.”

“Hmm. You know what that means then, Buck,” Steve said, somehow managing to keep a straight face despite his teasing tone. “We just need to come up with a nickname for you. How does that sound?”

“That sounds wonderful,” she admitted as Bucky carefully opened the file in his lap again. When Steve noticed the nervous expression on their Companion's face – obvious anxiety from the possibility of being judged even further, the Captain took one of her hands and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Why don't you grab that chair over there, and you can sit while we talk a little, alright?”

“Um, I would prefer to stand, thank you,” she admitted softly, her face turning pink.

Oh. OH. The chairs in front of Madame Potts' desk were modern, yes, but sitting in one after receiving a punishment would not be pleasant.

“How about we try this then, Little One?” Steve replied calmly, carefully urging her closer before swiftly picking her up and sitting her in his lap, right-side up. She let out a small squeak when her bottom hit his thigh, but – to her surprise – she found a lot of comfort in sitting in the Captain's lap. He was rather broad-shouldered and well-built, and she knew that he would be able to handle her weight with ease: he looked as if he could carry a horse on each arm and walk up and down the block without sweating!

“Is this comfortable?” Steve asked quietly, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist. If she wanted, she could easily move off his lap, and he wouldn't fault her for it, but instead she nodded and easily leaned into his touch.

“Mm-hmm.”

“What instrument do you play?” Bucky asked, reading more thoroughly through her file. For the past several years, she had taken music as one of her classes each semester. “Or do you play more than one?”

“I play the piano,” she said. “I wanted to play the cello too, or a bass, but Madame Potts said they're not lady-like instruments.”

The image of their small companion, whose head reached no higher than Steve's clavicle bone (at the very tallest), holding either a cello or bass was quite amusing. Bucky made no attempt to hide his smile.

“Do you enjoy playing the piano?” Steve asked. He already knew that she did – given she had repeatedly gotten into trouble for it – but he liked listening to her happy chattering.

“Oh, yes! The Priests next door lets me play the organ during mass on Sundays, and they allow me to practice on it during my free period if the music room is taken.”

“If you love playing the piano, Little One, why would you act belligerent towards a music instructor?”

“Because he was an _idiot_ ,” she said plainly, and Bucky and Steve almost laughed. “He thought a piano's keys went from A through J, and I could put up with that nonsense because I made perfect scores on my practical exams. Then he tried to fail my written exams, because he thought I was wrong, and I wasn't. He made me so mad, I swore in class, and he brought me to Madame Potts for a paddling, then she realized he was an idiot too.”

Bucky could tell the grin on his face would not be moving anytime soon, so he merely continued to read. “When did you have chicken pox, sweetheart?”

“I was six,” she answered. “I caught it from my brother, Nicky. Nicholas.”

All of them knew what had eventually happened to Nicholas: it said so in her file. It was a miracle that she hadn't contracted any of those highly contagious illnesses, one that Bucky felt thankful for now.

Wanting to steer her away from a sad topic, Steve suppressed the urge to playfully bounce his knee (knowing it would, at this moment, cause her pain) and asked, “What's your favorite subject?”

“Music,” she answered, “but I like English and reading too.”

“Do you play any sports during the spring?”

She shook her head. “No, but I can swim really well.”

“Why did you cut your hair?” Bucky interjected, closing the file and giving their little Companion a curious look. He wasn't mad, not at all: she looked quite nice with short hair. But many women – particularly Companions and women of higher statuses – had longer hair, regardless of color or weight or texture. It was fashionable.

“I like having it short,” she explained. “I worked in a thread factory from when I was nine until I came here: it's what I'm used to. Madame Potts asked me to let it grow, but I feel different with long hair. It's as if I'm not quite myself anymore.”

“You worked in a thread factory?” Bucky asked softly. As the owner of several large and prosperous factories, Bucky was well-acquainted with the newer laws condemning the use of child labor. He had several business associates who broke these rules, of course, but he personally made unsolicited and infrequent rounds to his own establishments to make sure these rules weren't broken. Any foreman he found who hired a child for labor was immediately fired and replaced. (On more than one occasion, he had replaced them with a parent of the child who had been hired.)

He also made a note to personally kick the ass of whomever owned the factory his little Companion had worked in, if he knew them.

She nodded, then said, “Yes. I had to keep my hair short so it wouldn't get caught in the machines.”

“Do you know who owned that factory, Babydoll?” Bucky purposefully ignored looking at Steve, even though he knew the Captain could tell that he was fishing for information.

Unfortunately, she shook her head. “No. I don't remember much about _who_ worked there: just what it was like _to_ work there...” She seemed to pick up on the Sergeant's quickly declining mood, because she tacked on, “I like that name.”

“You like 'Babydoll', huh, sweetheart?” Bucky gave her a small smile, and she nodded.

“You don't prefer Little One?” Steve pouted playfully, and she grinned widely.

“I like that one too, and it fits. You're bigger than me!” she chirped, then she shrieked with laughter when Steve tickled her sides.

“We've been asking you a lot of questions, sweetheart,” Steve said, ceasing the assault and kissed the side of her head. “Why don't you ask us some?”

Their little Companion stared at her dangling feet for a moment, and as Bucky was making notes to have her fitted for new shoes, she piped out, “Are you truly not offended by my file?”

“No, not at all,” Steve said, calm yet firm, while Bucky set the folder onto the empty seat beside him and took her hands in both of his own.

“Babydoll,” Bucky soothed softly, looking directly in her eyes, “Stevie and I _knew_ as soon as we read your file that we wanted you as our Companion. There's nothing wrong about your grades, or your occasional naughtiness. Besides,” he winked, “I'm sure if you saw what our teachers said about us back when we were in school, you'd be appalled.”

She gave him a tiny smile at that, before he looked at Steve: “Now, hand her over: it's my turn.”

Steve rolled his eyes and sighed in an exaggerated fashion, before their little Companion let out a surprised squeal as she was quickly – but not roughly – lifted from one lap to the other. Unlike Steve, who sat her directly upon his thigh, Bucky eased her bottom between the crease of his legs: it stung less while still offering the same security as Steve's broader lap. He also wrapped his arms loosely but protectively around her waist.

“Are you both enlisted?” she inquired. It wasn't illegal, or uncommon, for higher-ranking military officials to choose a Companion while still in the service. However, some chose to wait, because they would want to spend time with their Companion without the possibility of being called away (and not returning).

“No,” Steve said as Bucky shook his head. “Buck owns a few factories, and I'm the co-owner of a law firm on the other side of Brooklyn.”

“You're a _lawyer_?” she repeated in awe. She had met several factory owners in her life, though Bucky was certainly the nicest, but she had never met a lawyer before. When she had first entered Stark House in 1898, one of the oldest Companions – Jane Foster – had been taken by a man who had gone to college and had training as a lawyer. But Thor was also a Swedish Prince, so his schooling had been bizarre to begin with.

“Yes, Little One, I am,” Steve smiled.

“What's your firm called?”

“Rogers and Carter.”

Her eyes widened like saucers, and the grin on her face stretched even more. Many people across the country – and across the ocean – were fascinated by the determined and immovable Margaret Carter, one of the few female lawyers in the United States. She had gone to college in England, gained dual citizenship, and often fought along with suffragists when she did not have a case. Young suffragists looked up to her independence and intelligent nature. The papers applauded her for her social and economic status, her fashion sense, and her well-behaved Companion, Angela. Hardly three days passed without her name appearing in the papers.

“You know Margaret Carter? You _work_ with Margaret Carter?”

Bucky chuckled. “Looks like Peg's got an admirer, Stevie.”

“We're all her admirers,” Steve teased back, even though there was a great deal of truth to it. “She's a dear friend of mine, and Bucky's.”

She nodded, her eyes still wide and shining, before she looked at Bucky. “What kind of factories do you run?”

“They're all make different things, Babydoll. Shirt-coats, thread, leather shoes, hats, toys.”

“You have a _toy_ factory?”

“ _Of course, I do_ ,” he teased, pecking her cheek softly and grinning when she giggled. It was the largest factory that Bucky owned _and_ the largest toy factory on the eastern coast – but mentioning that would only be bragging (and Bucky tried not to brag about his work unless it was for business purposes). Tinker toys of circus animals and humans; china, porcelain, and fashion dolls – along with many accessories and clothes for each type of doll; board games and decorative playing cards; shiny jacks and colorful marbles; rocking horses for toddlers; roller skates and scooters and child-sized bicycles; croquet sets; teddy bears and other soft stuffed animals. Anything Bucky saw on the streets, or knew existed, was made in this factory and sold extraordinarily well.

It also suddenly occurred to Bucky that their little Companion might have grown up without any of these things, like many other children with poor, working parents. And that was something he was going to rectify _immediately._

“Buck's an old kid at heart,” Steve teased as he picked up the file between them – mostly because it was too close to the edge of the couch. He didn't want it spilling out onto the floor.

“We're going to have a lot of fun together, you and me,” Bucky said, “I can just feel it.”

“Is it just the three of us?” she asked, and that was a legitimate question. Some Companions were kept in families with many children, cousins, aunts and uncles, and any sort of people in-between, depending on how rich a family was and how large their estate. Other Companions might be kept with one single person.

Bucky shook his head. “No. Stevie and I will be your official Keepers, but it's not just the three of us. My parents' Companion stays with us as well.”

“Is she your wife?”

Bucky chuckled as Steve started to read through the file again. Probably to give them some illusion of privacy. “No, Babydoll. She's my sister, for all intents and purposes. And Steve's too, I guess. She teases him more.”

“What's her name?”

“Natasha Romanoff.”

“Not Barnes?”

Bucky shook his head. It wasn't mandatory for adopted Companions to take their Keepers surnames, but most did, for simplicity's sake. Natasha had wanted to keep her own name, and the Barnes family hadn't tried to convince her otherwise. They let her know she could change her names to Barnes at any time, if she wanted to, then left the matter alone.

“Is she my age?”

“No, she's a little older than you. She's closer to Steve's age.”

“Oh. What House was she in?”

“She came from the Red Room Academy for Companions, in Minnesota.”

“ _Natasha_ doesn't sound like a Minnesota name.”

Bucky chuckled. “She came from Russia before she was placed in her House. She knows a lot of languages, Babydoll. Maybe she'll be willing to teach you some.”

“I would love that!” their little Companion grinned wildly, before she started to laugh as Bucky gently tickled her sides.

“We also have a lazy cat,” Steve interjected softly. “He's all black, but he's harmless and friendly.”

“What's his name?” Bucky noticed how his little doll was practically bouncing in his lap at the thought of a cat living nearby.

“We aren't sure,” Steve said, his tone and face clearly expressing embarrassment.

“He was a gift from the King of Wakanda, in Africa,” Bucky explained. “Stevie and I can't pronounce the cat's name, but King T'Challa said it translates to 'Black Panther'. He responds to it just the same.”

At that moment, Madame Potts returned to her office, and she smiled at the sight of the Captain and Sergeant cuddling so close to their Companion. Some Keepers initially kept their Companions at an arms length, which was disappointing. “Is everything alright?” she asked politely.

“Everything's perfect,” Steve said as Bucky gave the little Companion in his lap a squeeze.

“When shall we leave, Madame Potts?” Bucky asked.

Madame Potts sighed. “Sergeant Barnes, I'm afraid you misunderstand. There are several more things that still need to be discussed before the three of you may leave together.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some general notes from me, to you guys: I wanted to avoid the use of "(Y/N)" within this, since I personally find it distracting, so the use of pet names will be heavy through-out the fic: Little One and Babydoll will be used fairly interchangeably. 
> 
> With Companions in this AU: most Companions are, legally and socially, viewed in an ambiguously gray area of “not quite a child, but not quite an adult either”, even if they are legally an adult. Because of that, there will be ageplay-esque undertones all through-out this fic, but there is no actual “ageplay” within the story itself. This will become more clear as this fic continues: I just wanted to warn you guys in advance, in case you're wondering why Steve and/or Bucky treat their Companion more child-like than another character. 
> 
> I gave a vague physical description of this Reader Insert character, based upon what was considered the “standard of beauty” within the Edwardian age. In this time period (1900-1919), it was pale skin, dark hair and eyes, and long hair. If you had short hair, it was assumed you came from a lower class, because you would have either sold your hair – or chopped it off to work in a factory. Her physical appearance does NOT play any sort of role within the story itself, and I will avoid any further references to eye, skin, or hair color if at all possible.
> 
> I had the quip about hysterectomies in there for several reasons. One: I personally do not want children, and reading any sort of Reader-Insert involving pregnancy or having children tends to pull me out of the story. There are many lovely stories that have Reader characters with children/babies, but this will not be one of them. Two: I could find very, very little about any sort of sex education – or contraception – from the Edwardian era, mainly because people believed it was a woman's duty to have children, instead of not having children. Addendum three (11/3/2016): modern day hysterectomies which remove the entire womb were not around until the mid-1940's or so. Nowadays, people who 'get their tubes tied' have a minor surgery to do so, which was what they referred to a hysterectomy back then (the blocking of the ovaries). So, unfortunately, the Reader character will still have periods but no babies.


	3. October 1906

After the parlor maid quickly escorted his Little One out of the office and back to her shared room upstairs, Steve was pouting – and Bucky listening intently – as Madame Potts watched them from behind her desk. To her credit, she was not telling them 'no'. She was making sure they were prepared for their Companion to move in.

Would she be staying in their room?

No, she will have her own bedroom.

Is this room currently ready for their Companion to stay in?

Technically, yes, since it was one of their guests rooms, but it was not decorated yet in a way they want—

“No, Bucky, that's the room Peg and Angie stay in. I thought we discussed turning the attic into—”

“That's right. I forgot. She would have a place to sleep until her own room was renovated properly.”

Would she be enrolled in another educational, or vocational, program?

Not enrolled, but we're speaking with a friend of ours who is willing to become a private tutor for her.

“Might I have his name?”

“Dr. Bruce Banner.”

Madame Potts' eyes widened slightly. “The physicist?”

“One and the same,” Steve said with a smile, while Bucky said, “He owes us some favors, and we'd be paying him well.”

Do they have clothes for their Companion ready – or have a plan to get them soon? The clothes the Companions currently have belong to the House and are shared between the girls.

They have no clothes at the house for her, because they did not want to purchase clothes that did not fit, but they plan on taking her shopping for clothes and to a seamstress.

Will she inherit anything – or _potentially_ inherit anything, since they claimed they will not marry her.

Potentially yes, but they don't have any specifics in mind. Bucky's estate is much larger than Steve's, but he didn't think a Companion ought to run six factories, and Peggy was set to receive Steve's half of the firm is he passes away unexpectedly. (He plans on giving it to her when he retires, but she doesn't know that.) Any inheritance would strictly be monetary.

Madame Potts was quiet for several moments after the grueling interview, before she said, “If you both are serious about this —”

“We are,” Steve and Bucky interjected simultaneously.

“—then how do you plan on disciplining your Companion when she acts naughty. And it shall be 'when', and not 'if', gentlemen.” Madame Potts wasn't asking to be overly intrusive, of course; she wanted to make sure their Companion would not be abused. There had been instances in the other Houses she had worked in where inappropriate answers had kept men – and women – from becoming Keepers.

“How are the Companions disciplined here, when they cause mischief?” Steve asked, despite the pinkness coming across his cheeks from embarrassment, before Bucky tacked on, “Aside from the obvious.” Each House had different structures for maintaining discipline and propriety: some were harsh, while other treated their pupils like delicate flowers.

“The girls will scrub floors, aid the Cook in the kitchen, beat the carpets, clap chalkboard erasers, collect and take out the garbage, wash windows – mild manual labor,” Madame Potts said. “We tend to figure out which methods work best for each pupil rather quickly.” After all, some girls came from backgrounds where performing such chores were typical of everyday duties, while others had never lifted a finger.

“What would you suggest for our little Companion?” Steve asked.

“A stern scolding and the slipper,” Madame Potts said plainly. “I can tell you will treat her fairly, _but_ I will not allow you to remove her from the House – _yet_. I would feel more at liberty to do so, knowing she will be clothed and in her intended room before signing her over. There is also a great deal of paperwork to have acquired, signed, and mailed into S.H.I.E.L.D before you may take her to your home.”

Unlike orphanages, where children were often adopted strictly as servants of the household or maids for a child of the house, there were various legalities to having a Companion. The Madame, or Sir, overseeing the House would need to legally sign the Companion over to their Keeper. There was a $25 fee to obtain the Companion dependency identification papers from S.H.I.E.L.D; they provided proof to the United States government – and to any police officer, government official, or other dignitary – of who a Companion's Keeper was, their residency, and acted as an official state ID, United States citizen ID, and passport. Similarly, Madame Potts would make unsolicited visits to their household through-out the first year to ensure their Companion was being treated properly.

Neither Bucky or Steve was pleased to hear that they were being told to wait, but they did understand the reasoning behind it. It was just a little heartbreaking knowing that, even if everything _was_ completely ready for their Companion, they would  _still_ have legal hurdles to jump. As Steve handed back the file to Madame Potts, he was cataloging their large home and what room would be best for their Little One. Bucky, on the other hand, was running through a list of painters and seamstresses – and the days he had off to look at furniture and other necessities.

“How fast do you believe we may submit the paperwork?” Steve asked.

“How quickly will you both be able to prepare everything on your behalf?” Madame Potts inquired.

“If we may have our Companion's measurements soon – by the end of the month, or the first week of November, at the latest,” Bucky replied confidently.

Madame Potts nodded. “I can have them postmarked to you by the end of the day, and I will start preparing everything on my behalf straightaway.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, trying not to sound too disappointed, and Bucky gave his knee a squeeze.

“Shall I help you catch a cab?” Madame Potts offered.

“Dear God, _no_ ,” Bucky said firmly, politely shaking her hand. “I will walk home.”

“We'll take the subway,” Steve whispered as he, too, shook her hand. “I do appreciate you help, Madame Potts.”

“You're very welcome, Captain Rogers.”

**~ * ~**

As soon as they returned home, Bucky called Dr. Banner to ask if he was available that night to have supper at their house – a stone and brick mansion in the wealthiest area of Brooklyn (which have been lovingly nicknamed 'Brooklyn's Fifth Avenue'). Unfortunately, he was not, but he promised to visit later in the week when he was. The physicist was constantly busy with one project or another, and he had the tendency to be rather forgetful when it came to time; such was a quality that came with genius, and neither Bucky nor Steve could fault him for that.

Natasha was not visiting any of her friends that evening, so the three of them dined together. In the middle of their first course (a light potato, broccoli, and cheese soup), without any sort of prompting, she said, “You both have been unusually quiet this afternoon. Did your visit to the Stark House go well?”

After all, in the months when Steve and Bucky had discussed keeping a Companion, they had asked Natasha's opinion (since she, too, lived in the mansion) – and were met with wholehearted approval on her part. _“This house is too big for three adults,”_ she had said, _“And even when Clint and his Companions visit, it's still too empty. Having another person here will be good for us all.”_

“We found someone,” Bucky said, grinning at Natasha's surprised expression, before Steve happily launched into a several-minute commentary about the House, and what they saw, and what they would need to accomplish before their Companion came to live with them. With every word that flowed from his mouth, it was clear to Natasha how much Steve already adored their Companion.

“Breathe, Steve,” Natasha said, noticing how flushed Steve's cheeks had become from lack of air. “You boys know I'm willing to assist you with anything you might need.”

“We still need to pick a room,” Bucky said. “The attic is large enough, and it's only storage right now, but would that be proper to have a bedroom in the attic?” Most wealthy households kept the attic as servants' quarters, but they did not. Their maids, Augustine and Kathleen, and the Cook, Mrs. Wilkes, had no room of their own in the mansion (which was certainly uncommon), but Steve had felt uncomfortable with the idea of going to bed, knowing there were non-family members still in their house (unless guests were invited).

However, the maids and the Cooker were paid higher than what the average servant in their positions made. Bucky also made sure to include a 'travel stipend' in their wages, to cover their daily nickel-a-ride subway costs from their tenement apartments to the mansion. When they were ill, Steve would send them home with the day's wage, since he knew a cold or a sickness was not their own fault – despite how another household might disagree with his methods; they had never taken advantage of this fact, and he prayed they never would.

“It doesn't necessarily need to be a guest room,” Natasha said. “One of the storage rooms can be renovated: it wouldn't hurt to get rid of some of this old furniture.”

“Well, which rooms do we have?” Bucky asked. “You both remember these sort of things better than I do.”

“The attic, which is currently used for storage —” Steve began.

“Yours and Steve's bedroom —” Natasha added.

“Nat's room —”

“The kitchens. The basement —”

“The dining hall —”

“I know that one, Stevie, we're sitting in it —”

“Well then, don't sound so offended, Buck —”

“Peggy's and Angie's guest room,” Natasha interrupted their bickering. “Clint's and Laura's guest room, and the two guest rooms next to _that_ one for their twins, Wanda and Pietro.”

“And the fifth one on that hall, in case we have any other guests staying,” Bucky said with a nod. So far, it had only happened once: the subways had stopped running for the night following a Sunday get-together, and Kathleen and Augustine were allowed to stay in the fourth guest room. (There was only one bed, but it was a large one.) “That ought to be enough guest rooms —”

“Your office, Buck,” Steve chirped.

“And your study —” Natasha said, with a wag of her eyebrows. It was rare for Steve to use his study for actual business purposes, unless the firm was closed for bank or national holidays.

“And your drawing room —”

“And there are five or six other rooms that are either empty, or only holding furniture,” Natasha finished. “Aside from the necessaries.”

“We should make the attic a play-room,” Steve said quickly, before he blushed under Bucky's and Natasha's dual looks. “I, it's just that all of us have a private room for our own leisure, and it would be fair —”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Bucky said, grinning too. “That makes sense, Stevie.”

“A play-room?” Natasha teased. “How child-like, _Stevie_.”

Steve was positively red in the face when he answered, “I-It slipped out.”

“He calls her his Little One,” Bucky joined in on the teasing.

“And you call her Babydoll,” Steve shot back with no malice, even though he – a Captain and lawyer and very dignified man – wanted to stick out his tongue at Bucky.

“I shall need to give her a nickname as well, it seems,” Natasha purred, sipping her wine, then she added, “I think a play-room is a sweet idea. Do you still plan on employing Dr. Banner?”

“If he agrees to it, yes,” Bucky said.

“Then perhaps one of the smaller storage rooms can be made into a studying room.”

“A desk can be put into the play-room, Nat,” Steve said, and Natasha calmly gave him a look.

“Steve, has any child paid attention to their studies in a room full of toys? I'm also sure Dr. Banner would feel comfortable in a office, if he agrees to tutor her.” All three of them knew that Dr. Banner was a rather shy individual to begin with, particularly around children. Constructing a study room – for both their Companion and Dr. Banner to use – would likely be the best solution to put them both at ease during lessons.

“We will have quite the spoiled little doll on our hands,” Bucky teased, but his eyes were full of light. He was quite happy to play a large role in the spoiling.

“And that is a bad thing?” Natasha teased.

“Not at all,” Bucky said as Kathleen brought out the second course, and they let the matter – temporarily – settle.

**~ * ~**

Madame Potts had, as promised, postmarked the necessary measurements that evening, so they had arrived in the mail at Steve's office two days later. Angela Martinelli – who, along with being Peggy's Companion – was the firm's secretary; as such, one of her many duties involved delegating all mail between Steve, Peggy, and the four junior lawyers who worked for Rogers and Carter.

While some Keepers did not want their Companions to have jobs of any sort, Peggy had seen no fault in allowing Angie work at the firm. It kept her from causing mischief around the house – or out of Peggy's eyesight, rather. It gave her some spending money, which she could use as she pleased. Most importantly, if Angie found an audition she wished to attend, Steve and Peggy could easily allow her the necessary time off without any repercussion. (So far, none of Angie's auditions were fruitful, which certainly put a damper on her spirits sometimes, but she never stopped trying, and Peggy was proud of her for that.)

“Mr. Rogers,” Angie poked her head into his office and grinned widely at the sight of Steve and her Keeper pouring over several papers scattered across his desk. He was _Steve_ outside of work hours, but _Mr. Rogers_ at the firm; that was a rule of Peggy's to maintain some degree of professionalism at the office between the three of them. “Mail's here.”

“Thank you, Angie,” Steve said, not looking up from his work.

However, Angie set the letters pertaining to their work nearby on the edge of the desk, then purposefully stuck the letter postmarked from _Howard Stark Companion Home for Young Ladies_ directly under his nose. “I thought this one might be important.”

“Angie —” Peggy purred in a mildly scolding tone, but Steve quickly took the letter from her hands and began to tears into it. He didn't even bother to use his letter opener! “Steven!”

“Bucky's been needing this,” Steve said, taking a note of the long list of measurements that Madame Potts had included. “We found our Companion at the House, and we need to get her some proper clothes.”

“Oh, I know well enough,” Peggy said, shooting a teasing glance to Angie, who grinned back and headed out the door to deliver the remainder of the mail. “You found her after only one House?” It had taken Peggy several tours of different Houses, on two separate continents, before she found Angie.

Steve nodded and admitted quietly, “I-I'm shocked too, Peg. I was worried we wouldn't find one at all – or she wouldn't want us. Both of us.” He had never told Peggy about his attraction to both sexes, but – like Natasha – she seemed to have figured it out over time, but she had never commented on it.

“I'm sure she is lovely, Steven,” Peggy said calmly. “Why don't you give that to the Sergeant during your lunch hour, and I can give you the names and addresses of several stores which might be to your benefit.” After all, Peggy had been Angie's Keeper for almost two years; Steve knew any advice she could give would be to his and Bucky's benefit.

“I would appreciate that, Peg. Thank you.”

As suggested, Steve delivered the list of measurements – and the shorter list of boutiques and department stores from Peggy – to Bucky, who gave him a peck on the cheek as a thank-you.

**~ * ~**

Dr. Banner came to the house for supper that Thursday, along with Peggy and Angie – who regularly ate supper with Steve and Bucky on Thursday nights. Natasha, to Angie's disappointment, was not joining them; they got along quite well together.

“Why isn't Nat here?” Angie had pouted when she noticed there were only five places set instead of the expected six.

“She's having supper with the Bartons,” Bucky filled in. “Laura was holding a suffragist meeting earlier this afternoon: a few of the women are staying for supper afterwards.”

“I bet Pietro was pleased to hear that,” Steve smirked.

While Peggy and Angie had only met the Barton/Maximoff family on a handful of special occasions, both Steve and Bucky (and Natasha, of course) knew the four of them – Laura, Clint, Wanda, and Pietro – more intimately. They were as close to extended family as the trio had, following the deaths of Bucky's parents and Sarah Rogers.

For some reason or another, Pietro Maximoff found the suffragist movement appalling – despite the opposing attitudes of his sister and his Keepers. He had gotten into trouble more than once with both Laura and Clint for rude remarks about it. _“I have no problem with you having a different opinion, Pietro,”_ Clint scolded the male Companion on more than one occasion after making his sister cry. _“But you will act maturely when you express it, or I shall treat you as childishly as you act.”_

Conversation flowed easily through the first courses (a small cucumber and tomato salad, and rolls with mozzarella baked inside), before Steve finally said, “Dr. Banner, we have a favor to ask of you.”

“No, I will not tell either of you the chemicals you need to make a chemistry set for children.”

Peggy and Angie laughed, and Bucky pouted. Steve shook his head. “It's not that. We found a Companion, and we wanted to know if your offer to be her tutor was still on the table.”

Dr. Banner looked quite surprised by that revelation, and he stuttered, “I-I'm surprised you found someone, to be honest. N-Not that I thought you _wouldn't_ find someone, but... you only asked me two months ago.”

“Four months,” Bucky corrected carefully.

“Four?” Dr. Banner removed his glasses to rub his eyes. “I'm getting behind...” He gave a little sigh, and he asked, “How smart is she? And I should probably know her name.”

Bucky told him, then added, “Her recent grades were good enough.”

“Recent grades?”

“She was a factory worker before entering the House,” Steve said gently, and Dr. Banner nodded. There were many assumptions that could be made about children who worked in factories at any point in their life: a lack of any formal education was one of them.

“Do you want her to go on to college?” Dr. Banner asked. Both men shook their heads: there were so few women's colleges, and unless she wanted to enter the law firm, neither man could understand why she would wish to attend. “Are there any subjects that she struggles with?”

“The ones you excel with,” Bucky said, scratching his nose. “I can get you a copy of her grades once we collect her from her House. They will give us her file, right, Peg?”

Peggy nodded. “Yes, but they shall create a copy for their own records.”

Dr. Banner still seemed to be deep in thought and maintained that facial expression through most of the second course (brown Windsor soup, one of Peggy's favorite recipes from England). A normal person might suspect that he was deciding on a polite way to say, “No,” but that was not the case. As they had previous discussed, Dr. Banner knew his duties as her tutor would require being at the mansion two or three times a week for only a handful of hours. Even with his sporadic projects and his determination to solve various scientific mysteries, he would have a great deal of free time – and the pay they had offered for something so simple would certainly assist him in his scientific endeavors without needing to take out bank loans or personal loans from friends.

“When would you wish for me to begin?” Dr. Banner eventually asked with a small smile on his face as Kathleen and Augustine both brought out the final course (roasted duck) before dessert (chocolate bundt cake, tea, and coffee).

“You're agreeing to it?” Steve's shocked grin told enough of his surprise.

“Yes,” the physicist agreed, then he tacked on, “But I'm not giving lessons somewhere she could become distracted.”

“You mean, such as a play-room?” Bucky said, his voice mild, and Steve nearly dropped his fork and gave his partner a dirty look.

“Exactly... Wait, are you giving your Companion a play-room? How old is she again?”

Angie collapsed into giggles at the ensuing argument between Steve, Bucky, and Dr. Banner (though it was mostly between the former two), and Peggy didn't dare scold her, for the fear of laughing herself.

**~ * ~**

Over the next three weeks, Bucky felt the levels of stress ebb and flow with each passing hour. Any moment with Steve was like the melting of snow to the springtime. Sporadic moments with Natasha were a comfort. Both of them together was bliss. When they were gone, he focused solely on preparing everything for his Babydoll. He made no rounds to the factories (but mentally planned surprise visits to four of his factories once she moved in). He relentlessly scheduled for painters and furniture-makers and store-owners to visit the estate. Once he retrieved the measurements from Steve, he started placing orders in seamstress shops, boutiques, and department stores.

On more than one occasion, he wound up visiting the law firm: not to see Steve, but to borrow Angie for a few hours. He would usher her to the shops where he'd placed orders, ask her personal opinions on potential clothes for their Companion, and then return her to Peggy before the office closed for the day (usually after purchasing lunch for her as a thank-you). Bucky considered himself to be a fashionable man, but he also knew having a woman's opinion – especially from a woman who was also a Companion – would be immensely beneficial. Especially since he only borrowed Angie when Natasha was otherwise engaged.

Make no mistake: Peggy and Angie had money. Miss Carter had grown up in a well-to-do family, nearly doubled her inheritance in a few short months after receiving it, and her job provided a steady and luxurious income. In fact, her monetary worth was probably equal to Steve's, if not higher. They both owned an equal portion of the firm, and they both took cases at their own leisure: Peggy usually had more cases, but Steve's clients were often wealthier businessmen who didn't want a female lawyer (despite Steve's insistence that Peggy was intelligent, determined, and never lost a case). Steve technically was the sole owner of the firm's building, because the bank had refused to put Peggy's name on the mortgage, but his monthly military pension came nowhere near to her meticulous investments and savings.

However, almost all of that money belong to Peggy – aside from what Miss Carter had put away into a trust for Angie. Her Companion had not grown up in such a rich environment, and Bucky noticed that her humbler roots often came into play when she checked the prices of clothing, or furniture, or even looked in the windows of the candy shop near the firm. He didn't want to be rude and point it out, but he would occasionally remind himself that his little Babydoll would probably act the same way: people who grew up poor were hyper-vigilant about what was in their pocket, even if they eventually became rich. That was a saddening fact of life.

If the Barnes family had ever been as poor as some of the immigrant families who worked in factories or were among the servant class, Bucky could not remember it. He had not grown up _immensely_ wealthy, of course: his father was a banker with a military pension, and his mother was a housewife who raised him, his brothers (before their deaths), his sister (before she entered her House), and Natasha. As time went on, with only two children in their household, Mr. Barnes had made many good investments, and Bucky had learned a lot from him. He had become exceptionally fortunate that his investments in his factories worked out in his favor. 

Steve, on the other hand, had been in a similar situation as Angie... though not _as_ destitute. He had been frail and sick with childhood illnesses, before miraculous growing into his current stature through puberty and his training in the army. His mother had been his only parent, but she had also been a nurse, living off her own wages and her widow's pension from her husband's time in the army. He had gotten training to become a lawyer before entering the military, and he had fallen back on that after his honorable discharge. Steve Rogers knew that his life was essentially one miracle after another, and he did not take that for granted.

By the end of the three weeks, he was proud of everything that had been accomplished. One of the empty rooms – located on the same hallway as Steve's and Bucky's bedroom, and Natasha's – would be her bedroom. The study-room, which was one of the storage rooms, was located on another floor with the guests rooms. It had previously held many boxes of storage furniture, and some larger pieces; none of them had been worth keeping, so – after gathering approval from Steve and Natasha – he had sold them, then purchased what was necessary to turn the vacant room into a place for studying and schoolwork. The attic, which would be their doll's play-room, was almost completely finished: there were only one or two things missing. The other three rooms were emptied out and repainted, but not entirely redecorated; perhaps, in the future, the rooms would be changed into something. One room would, most likely, become another necessary at some point, but the other two were undecided.

All that mattered now was Bucky's determination to make sure that his Stevie and his little Babydoll would never need to worry about anything, especially money or their futures, ever again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As any New York readers can probably guess, I am not from New York (nor have I visited, unfortunately). However, in the Edwardian age, many rich families – despite living in the city – still owned mansions in various parts of New York. Most of them were on Fifth Avenue or Park Avenue, but since I didn't want to relocate Steve and Bucky to Manhattan, we can just pretend there is a street equivalent somewhere in Brooklyn. ;3 
> 
> The maids' and the Cook's names are not in reference to other comic book characters. I just wanted to give them names, since I will probably reference them in the future. 
> 
> Laura Barton was Clint's wife in "Age of Ultron", and while some fans didn't like her, I did. However, I was on the fence about their children and realized I liked the idea of them being a family with the Maximoffs more than having their own children. So, as a part of the AU, they have Pietro and Wanda as their Companion children. We will definitely see more of their family in the future. :3


	4. Tuesday, October 29, 1906

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is written in second POV.

“Ring around the Rosies! A pocket full of Posies...” the small group of younger children, four or five girls who were no older than twelve, swung each other around, chirping the rhyme happily during their recess. You could see some of them through the window of the dining hall: they looked as if they had no cares in the world.

At the Howard Stark House, Companions above the age of fourteen were not allowed a recess before lunch. Instead, they ate before the younger Companions, then had a “free period” afterwards during the younger pupils' lunch. During the free period, they were allowed outside if they desired – to play, or visit the library, or simply walk around and enjoy being out o' doors – or they may remain inside and entertain themselves quietly before their next class.

You intended to practice on the piano in the music room, but if Anna-Marie and her flute were there first, you would go to the attic. Nobody wanted to be there, and it would allow you the privacy that you needed.

After Steve and Bucky left, Madame Potts had explained that they planned on returning for you in a month or so, once all of the paperwork was sorted out. You had known that there would be paperwork involved, and that it could take quite a long time... But, sometimes, a Keeper might change their mind and decide not to keep a Companion if the paperwork became too difficult or tedious. With each passing day, you worried that they would choose not to return for you.

Or worse: they might choose another girl at the House. Like bossy ol' Amelia.

You didn't want to sound petty. But you also wanted to be in your own “forever home” as well! You had a warm feeling in your heart when Steve and Bucky were around, and you had felt protected and safe. Amelia – with her nosy and know-it-all attitude – had been doing her best to purposefully dampen your mood.

The news had traveled quickly around the House that two gentlemen had toured the building and asked if you would want to be their Companion. It wasn't uncommon for gentlemen, women, or couples, to tour the building and leave without meeting any of the Companions. It also wasn't uncommon for older Companions to speak with potential Keepers if they showed an interest in a particular pupil.

But, as Amelia enjoyed rubbing in your face on occasion, you were the only Companion in the House who had gone through with a hysterectomy. As someone who wanted to marry their Keeper, she (and some others) wholeheartedly believed you were damaged goods. Since she was a temporary transfer from the Laufeyson House, Amelia hadn't been present when Mr. Osborn rejected you – but she had sniffed out information from the other girls like a bloodhound and would occasionally mock you for that as well.

At twenty-six, Amelia was the oldest Companion in the House. She had also been the oldest at the Laufeyson House. It wasn't hard to guess why: she was very pretty, but her personality was as desirable as the plague.

“Where are you running off to?” Amelia questioned once everyone was dismissed from the dining hall.

“Why should I tell you?” you snapped, trying to make a polite sprint towards the staircase. Amelia grabbed your arm.

“Are you planning on running away?”

“From you? Maybe.”

“Not from _me_ , you twit. From this House.”

“Why would I run away?”

Amelia gave you a look. “Don't act stupid: everyone knows they're not coming back for you.”

“Yes, they will,” you said firmly, yanking your arm away and heading towards the stairs. “Madame Potts said so.”

“Have _you_ heard anything from them?” Amelia called after you. “Susan's Keeper visited her twice a week until he could take her home. Madeline's wrote her letters every day. Agatha's sent presents _five_ times before he returned from overseas.”

You refused to acknowledge her words, even though there was a morbid truth to it. Madame Potts told you every few days that the paperwork was still going forward – or that the Captain or the Sergeant had called her to confirm necessary information – but you personally had heard nothing from them. And that hurt a little. More than a little, actually. It hurt quite a lot.

You trotted up to the second floor, and you could already hear a flute playing, so you simply continued walking until you reached the fifth floor. You entered the dusty, compact attic and made your way over to the window. There was no window-seat, but you had no problem with sitting on the floor, your arms wrapped around your legs, and watching the outside world pass by the large window. You could still hear occasional rumblings around the House through the nearby heating grate: childish giggling, footsteps, metallic noises and clattering emitting from the kitchen.

As dingy and musky as the attic was, you enjoyed being there. When you looked out the window, it was almost as if you had sprouted wings: people were so much smaller! Everything in the street held more clarify in the attic than when you stood on the sidewalk: no people to bump into at every angle, no sounds or smells that could distract you. You could see everything objectively, not subjectively.

There were a few street vendors outside, selling bags of hot chestnuts and Coke-Colas and fruits for pennies. Some of the Companions that you could see leave the front door immediately bee-lined towards them, eagerly fishing copper and silver coins out of their pinafore pockets. You had about seventy-three cents saved in a small jar in your trunk, from spare change that people had dropped in the streets, but other Companions with families might be sent money on occasion – if they still had contact with their biological families. Some families kept no contact with their children when they became a Companion; they believed it made the transition into a different family easier when there was nothing to hold them back.

You knew the sight of the street well from the attic: certain figures – since you could not see faces – had become recognizable over time, based upon how a person moved or dressed. The priests and pastors were easy to spot. So were the street vendors. Fellow Companions were recognizable because of the House uniform. One of the librarians would sometimes walk by and purchase oranges in the spring, blueberries in the summer, or chestnuts when it was cold.

Today, there was a large cart on the curb, with two boys – probably around your age or so – unloading some packages. You could tell by their hats and the way they carried themselves that they were delivery boys, but you were surprised by how many packages they were carrying! You couldn't quite make out how many there were, but it _looked_ like quite a lot, and they were all different sizes. To your shock, they knocked on the front door of the House and – after waiting for one of the maids to open the door – went inside.

Deliveries to the House were rare. The maids ran errands for Madame Potts and the Cook often, but the most frequent visitor to the House was Mr. Coulson, who worked for S.H.I.E.L.D with solidifying Companion documentation. Occasionally, new books and articles of clothing would be ordered, but that was only when absolutely necessary. “Haste makes waste,” was something you'd grown up hearing nearly everyday in the House. Still, you knew new geography texts – or perhaps some stockings for the younger Companions (who tore theirs constantly), or slates and chalk, might be among the packages, so you didn't concern yourself over it too much.

After all, two delivery boys weren't very interesting to watch. Especially when the chestnut vendor was trying to avoid getting his heels nipped at by the fruit vendor's tiny, scruffy dog.

**~ * ~**

For the rest of the afternoon, you managed to avoid Amelia. It wasn't difficult. You were in classes with some of the older Companions – some of whom wanted to go onto college, if they were given the opportunity – while Amelia spent her afternoon with Madame Potts. According to her, she was training to become a House overseer, if she did not find her Keeper before turning thirty. Part of you felt conflicted: you were glad that Amelia was thinking about her future, but you also felt sorry for anyone who lived in a House that Amelia was overseer of.

Not all Companions found their Keepers: it was rare, of course, but it still happened. There was no “age limit” to remaining in the House, but many older Companions – when they hit a certain age, like Amelia – realized they probably could find greener pastures elsewhere. With the type of education they received at their House, a Companion might decide to start her own business, or find employment, or become an overseer for a House, or a great number of things. Often enough, they would find someone to be with along the way. Why, Phil Coulson's wife had left her own House at twenty-eight and become a concert cellist before eventually meeting him!

Geography was the final class of the afternoon, and you knew that you could use the hour before supper to practice in the music room. Normally, Anna-Marie was good about sharing the space, but that didn't mean someone else would be so agreeable, especially since the younger pupils would be released from their studies too. Once the instructress relieved the group, you rushed down the hallway and started to peer through sheet music. You knew which piece you wanted, of course, but it was _finding_ that piece in the large box of music that was difficult —

Someone was calling your name. Why was someone calling your name? It wasn't Amelia, and it wasn't Madame Potts or any of the instructors, so why —?

A coppery-skinned girl of thirteen rushed into the music room: the blue ribbon attached to the bottom of her long, black braid was almost ready to fall out in haste. Samantha! Of course. Despite being seven years younger than you, she was a good and loyal friend; she was bright-eyed and full of exuberance, and she admired your musical talents far more than she probably should, since she wanted to be a concert pianist. In exchange for assistance with piano and her studies, she would often tell you stories of her former home in India. She had been sent away because of how much disease there was, and she'd left her boarding school in England and entered the Stark Companion House after her father and mother had passed away from the cholera.

“Samantha, you shouldn't run like that: Madame Potts will get after you if she catches wind of it,” you teased, flipping eagerly through the box of paper.

“You were running a moment ago! We all saw you rush here!”

“Yes, but _my_ ribbon isn't flopping about.”

Samantha took note of her own appearance and started to fix her hair as she spoke: “But aren't you the least bit curious? It's so exciting!”

“Curious about what? My Keepers?” You knew Samantha had a tendency to gossip and listen to whatever rumors were flying around the House: she wasn't malicious, but she was extremely curious. And gossip spiked her curiosity more than anything. “They _are_ coming back for me, regardless of whatever you've heard Amelia and her big mouth say —”

“No, I mean the parcels!” Samantha bounced up and down. “The parcels! Haven't you seen them?”

“... Do you mean the ones the delivery boys brought earlier? Yes, I saw them come in through the attic window. I suppose they're books for Madame Potts, or —”

“No, they're on _your_ bed!” Samantha said, grabbing your arm urgently. “The parcels! _All_ of the have _your_ name on them, so they're sitting on your bed for you!”

You stopped searching through the music at once. Packages, for you? You had never received a package at the House, or ever before, to be honest: you had nobody to send you one! A sudden rush of excitement filled you, and – despite playfully scolding Samantha about it moments before – both of you dashed up the stairs to the third floor.

Once you reached the threshold of the seven-bedded room, you immediately understood why Samantha had been so energized. At the foot of your bed, there was the small trunk which held your personal belongings, your blanket (folded neatly on top of the trunk) and a pillow. On your bed, there were no less than eight packages of varying sizes – and a thick stack of letters bound together with twine. You felt as if all the air in your lungs had been pressed out of you with a rolling pin.

“Open them, open them! I wanna see what's inside!” Samantha said, noticing your shock and gingerly shaking you.

You definitely shared the same sentiment. When you got closer, you saw your name daintily written onto each package, along with the House address and a number. After you rearranged the boxes in order of the numbers, you realized just how many packages there were. Ten. Ten! You could already feel tears pricking at your eyes.

“Please don't cry!” Samantha said, giving one of your hands a squeeze. She picked up the stack of letters and handed them to you. Like the packages, there were no return addresses. “Here! This has _one_ on it. Should you open that first?”

“I can't imagine why there would be numbers on it otherwise,” you admitted, unlacing the twine – then you realized that only the top letter had no return address. The remaining eight had _Captain Steven Rogers,_ and an address in Brooklyn that you'd never been at, in the top left-hand corner. You quickly set down all of the other letters onto the package bearing “4” to open the top note: it was short.

 

_My Darling Little One,_

_I apologize that my letters have not reached you until now. I'm afraid I had forgotten to have them posted. If Natasha hadn't found them on my desk at home, I doubt I would have remembered at all! She is much better at remembering things like that: that's part of the reason why Angie is at our office._

_I love you dearly: that is something I shall_ _ never _ _forget. Bucky and I shall see you soon._

_Steve_

 

If it weren't for the large smile across your face, you would have cried from sheer relief. You had _not_ been forgotten. Well, not intentionally. You supposed that – between his work at the law firm, and the paperwork from the House, and whatever else might be occurring in his life – you could understand forgetting to actually send a letter at the post office after writing it. It was the same principal of completing your daily assignments, and then forgetting to give it to the instructor: sometimes, it just happened!

“What's it say?” Samantha asked, before you passed over the note to be read. It didn't take long for a smile to come across Samantha's face as well, and she handed the letter back. “Are you going to read the others?”

“Yes,” you admitted, carefully setting the opened letter with the unopened ones and binding them back together with the twine, “but... I think I want to open the packages first.”

The parcel marked with “2” was the smallest. Samantha sat on her bed, which was right next to yours, as you opened it and revealed a small note – with different handwriting that Steve's – and a thin, long, black jewelry box. Although you knew it was rude, you opened the jewelry box before the letter, then nearly dropped it in shock. Inside was a shiny, silver, heart-shaped locket.

“It's so beautiful,” you murmured as Samantha peered into the box as well, before her jaw dropped in an unladylike fashion.

“What's this letter say?” the little Indian girl asked.

The second letter started off with your name, written in a very feminine hand:

 

_When I was nine years old, I was taken from the Red Room Academy by Bucky's parents, George and Winifred Barnes. They surprised me with a locket similar to this one, with photographs of them, so they could always be near my heart. You are our family now, so I decided to continue the tradition and give you a locket of your own. Please take good care of it._

_I shall meet you soon._

_Your loving and loyal friend,_

_Natasha Romanoff_

_P.S. Do forgive Steve for his forgetfulness (and Bucky too, I suppose). They have spent the last few weeks floundering around like fishes out of water. You can imagine why._

 

She drawn a small heart at the bottom beside the addendum, and you let Samantha read her note as you gently pried open the locket. It was surprisingly thick, and when you got it open, you understood why. The clasp was double-sided, so instead of two pictures, this locket could hold four. On the first side, there was Steve, and in the second frame, there was Bucky. When you turned the clasp over, there was a beautiful woman whom you'd never seen before: Natasha. The fourth space was blank.

It took only a half moment to place Natasha's letter with the multiple letters from Steve, before showing Samantha the black-and-white photographs in the locket.

“They're so handsome,” Samantha said, “And she's as pretty as Alice Roosevelt!”

There was a great rush of excitement in your bones, and you couldn't stop yourself from ripping into the third package. Then the fourth. And the fifth, and continuing until – somewhere, amidst yours and Samantha's gasps of awe and shock, and your determined unwrapping of the parcels, you started to cry. You weren't sad, not in the slightest; you felt an overwhelming sense of gratefulness and joy. Not at the material objects themselves, but from the sheer amount of love that you could see had gone into preparing them. Samantha assisted you with the seventh parcel, and the two of you only stopped when you found a letter in the final package.

Samantha seemed to understand that, through your 'good' tears, you were unable to read the handwriting, so she made you sit on her bed while she read aloud:

 

_To my Beautiful, precious Babydoll,_

_I miss you so much. I am so sorry that neither Steve nor I have made much contact with you these past few weeks. Everything is being set up for your arrival, and we couldn't be more overjoyed, but that still does not excuse our actions or forgetfulness. (Natasha found Stevie's letters on his desk! His_ _ desk_ _! Where else would he have put them?)_

_I've sent these parcels ahead of us, so that you might enjoy them – and wear your new clothes for when we return to the House. We are meeting with Madame Potts, and a Mr. Coulson, on Friday, November 2, to sign everything necessary to take you with us that afternoon._

_Steve and I shall see you soon._

_Love, Forever Yours,_

_Bucky_

_P.S. Natasha brought something to my attention, which I hadn't previously considered: please do not think of these presents as Steve's or my attempts to “buy your love or forgiveness”. (Those were her words: she's quite clever, but please don't tell her I said that.) Neither of us want you to believe that we're creating a relationship with you based solely on the exchange of gifts. We simply love you so much already, and we wanted to express it in the best possible way at the moment – short of stealing you from your House in a carriage, like a princess in a fairy tale._

 

Inside the parcels were clothes: brand new, incredibly expensive, and beautifully-made clothes. You now understood why there had been so many packages: the clothes you had belonged to the House, and these would replace them when you left.

A pair of black stockings with meticulously threaded flower embroidery. A white, cotton combination – which you had only seen in the rare advertisements in women's magazines: it looked much lighter than the thick bloomers and chemise you had on underneath your uniform. A corset, and a cotton corset cover. Two lace petticoats with lots of frills. (Samantha's eyes had widened with envy, and you felt a little embarrassed by unwrapping all of these new underpinnings in front of her.) A pair of black, button-hook boots. A sky-blue, short-sleeved, lacy tea gown, but with a slightly shorter hem. A long, purple winter coat with soft, brown fur around the inner lining and the collar. A pair of leathery, gray winter gloves. And, to top it all off, a small, fashionable winter hat, also made of soft, brown fur.

Everything was so beautiful to look at: soft to the touch, warm-looking and marvelous to envision wearing. Still, there was a feeling of doubt growing in your stomach.

“I don't feel like I deserve it,” you admitted quietly through your tears. “All of this. Any of this. I, I don't know how to possibly thank them, or repay them.”

Samantha sat on her bed beside you and gave you a hug, which you returned. “I think you do,” she admitted quietly. “You've _always_ been my friend, even though you didn't have to be... And they're your Keepers! I think if _they_ think you deserve it, then you do! Why would they lie about that?”

That made sense to you, and you could feel the guilt easing out of your body and being replaced by an aura of light, filling you from the bottom of your feet towards the tip of your head. You sniffed and nodded, wiping at your cheeks with your thumb to try and stop further tears. “Thank you, Samantha. You're a wonderful friend too.”

There was a moment of soft silence between the two of you, before Samantha giggled. “Watching you rip through all of those parcels: it was like Christmas!”

“This feels so much better than Christmas,” you said. After all, Father Christmas was not real (though you dare not mention that to Samantha), but Steve and Bucky and Natasha. They _were_. They were _real_ , they wanted you, and you wanted them back.

Friday could not come soon enough!

**~ * ~**

“I knew I would find you here...”

You turned your head at the sight of Samantha crawling her way into the dusty attic. It was after midnight, well past when you were meant to be sleeping, and you were out of your bedroom – which meant lines, or scrubbing the kitchen floors, if you were caught. Still, at the sight of your friend, looking quite small in a nightgown and robe that was much bigger than she was, you held out an arm and cuddled her close.

“What are you doing out of bed, Samantha?”

“I was lonely,” she said. “I woke up, and everyone was asleep... and I knew you would be here.”

“You _knew_ , huh?”

Samantha nodded, before she asked sympathetically, “Are you alright? I thought what Amelia said was hurtful.”

Your parcels had not remained secret for very long. The girls who also shared the room had seen them, but nobody has spoken to you about it before supper. Samantha had mentioned the letters, and after some gentle prodding from your roommates – and some not-so-gentle demands from Amelia, the entire story tumbled forth. Once supper was over, nearly everyone clamored to see if it were true.

For most of them, the sight of the parcels tucked neatly under your bed had been enough. The girls who shared your room – Sophie, Ida, Cordelia, Eleanor, and Lucy – had politely asked to peek inside. You had obliged and showed them the purple coat, then blushed when they asked if they might pet the fur and squealed over its softness.

Amelia, on the other hand, had demanded to read one of the letters as proof that the parcels weren't empty – or stolen. You had become quite angry at that, but you had agreed and shown her the letter from Bucky: the letter which said you were loved, that the clothes were for you, and the exact date of when they were arriving. She read it slowly, and her expression quickly grew more and more cross, until she finally huffed and handed the letter back.

“ _Fine,”_ she'd snapped, _“They are coming back for you. But it would be tragic if something happened to one of your packages wouldn't it?”_

“ _Yes, it would be.”_ The sudden sound of Madame Potts' voice made everyone jump, and all of the color drained from Amelia's face. _“Which is why your parcels ought to stay in my office, safe from harm, until Friday. Is that agreeable?”_

“ _Yes, Madame Potts,”_ you had said at once, knowing very well that she kept her office locked most of the time.

“ _Good. I shall return shortly to help you bring them downstairs. Amelia. My office._ _Now_ _.”_

“I'm alright,” you said. “I know Amelia is just a rather jealous person.”

“It's because nobody wants her, isn't it? That's why she's so bitter,” Samantha said softly. “I think I would be bitter too, knowing that nobody wanted me after being in a House for so long.”

You shook your head. “I can't see you becoming bitter, Samantha. And if you don't find someone, that's alright! Look at Coulson! His wife left her House —”

“But do you truly think _Amelia_ will find _anyone_ who wants her after she leaves?”

Truthfully, no, you didn't, which was an awful thing to admit. But your silence said it well enough, and Samantha looked crestfallen.

“Samantha, are you concerned no one will want you?”

Samantha did not immediately respond, but she eventually nodded her head. “I came from a family of servants who worked in grand households in India. Rich men and women in India did not want children from poor families, even if they're bright.”

You gave your friend a squeeze. “You do not need to worry,” you said softly, keeping your arms protectively around her. “Everybody is different, and each Companion is different, because we are all different people.”

“I know, but... Sometimes I don't understand. All of this. I don't want to question it, because being _here_ is so much nicer and cleaner than returning to England or India, but... I want to understand.”

You were quiet for several moments as you held Samantha close and collected your thoughts. Then you began to explain, as gently and as objectively as you could.

The Companion Houses had been introduced about sixty or seventy years prior, as a means of aiding intelligent – but poor or under-privileged – children into gaining a greater education. A higher education within a House was something that could help these children into a more stable environment, and – as adults – could help them garner jobs to support them better than working in a factory or becoming a servant, if they decided they wanted to work. It kept these poor children out of orphanages, where – if they were “adopted”, they would only become servants or a field hand. A child in an orphanage was not treated as a child ought to, but a child in a House was.

Over time, things slowly began to change. Upper-class families began to recognize the importance of Companion Houses. If a wealthy family was unable to have a child, they would have no heir or heiress, and it was certainly uncouth to adopt a child from a lower social class. A poor child would not know how to behave “properly” within a higher social circle. On the other hand, a Companion – who had been educated and taught – would. _Oh, yes, we adopted Susan from a Companion House, what a lovely establishment it was. Oh, no, of course, she's not an_ _orphan_ _! She is an educated and well-brought up young lady! Susan, dear, please do show how well you play an instrument – or how show off graceful you are._

It had started out as a very thin social convention, you supposed, but that “social convention” allowed for the exceptionally slow merging of classes. It wasn't extreme, of course: the women – and men – who were in Companion Houses worked hard, but in time, it would pay off.

“Not every Companion is adopted, though,” Samantha said.

“Of course not,” you admitted. “Not everyone who comes to a House wants a child. That was just how it started.”

Higher-class men or women would also look at a Companion House for a spouse. They wouldn't look at the underage Companions, obviously, but for the older Companions, it could be beneficial. A Companion would have as much education as a formally brought up debutante – without the haughtiness, potential familial interference, or demanding attitude towards wealth and social climbing. Companions were also taught how to maintain themselves regardless of the economic status of any potential Keeper; a woman from a higher status, should an economic downfall occur, would not.

“Which are you going to be?” Samantha asked. “You cannot marry both of them, so shall you be their child?”

You shook your head. “I don't think so. I believe I'm somewhere in the middle. People are lonely sometimes, but they don't want a child or a wife. They want a friend. A Companion: that's where the word comes from.”

“Or a Babydoll,” Samantha teased softly.

You grinned. “Exactly. Men don't want to play with toy dolls, so they sometimes make people into dolls – except, Companions have a brain, and some high society women don't... I think they admire that.”

“So yours will only dress you like a doll,” Samantha inquired.

You shrugged. “I suppose: I don't mind. Some men treat their wives similarly.”

“Then why have a Companion to dress as a doll, but not a wife?”

The answer to her question was obvious to you, but you also were unsure of how Samantha might react towards the implication of homosexuality. It was also possible, of course, that you could be wrong. Steve and Bucky might just enjoy bachelorhood too much to settle down. So, you shrugged. “I don't know. People have their own reasons: I try not to worry about it.”

Samantha seemed to accept that answer, before she asked: “What if they want something different, after a while? What if they change their mind?”

“A Keeper in general, or my own Keepers?”

“Your Keepers.”

You thought for a moment before giving her another small squeeze. “Then I shall jump that hurdle when it is placed in my path. It takes at least two people to change a Companion relationship, not only one... Or three, since I will have two Keepers... Now, we probably ought to get back into bed. I know you don't want to write lines tomorrow morning, and neither do I.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've received several comments / questions about Companions with the past few chapters, so I wanted to clarify it a little more within the chapter, which ties hand-in-hand with the short explanation in chapter one. Hopefully I've cleared up any sort of confusion. A lot of the implications and relationships about Companions are built around the Edwardian society as a whole, where gender roles were much stricter than they are today. And now: some fun facts about history!
> 
> During the Victorian and Edwardian age, many British families who occupied India (and, by extension, some wealthy Indian families) would send their children out of India because of how much disease there was – cholera being among the worst of it all. They would often be sent to England, or other countries in Europe, to boarding schools, to become proper young men and ladies. They would only return after reaching adulthood, when they would be less susceptible to any disease that could've killed them as a child. 
> 
> Edwardian ladies wore a lot of layers, so I had some fun with fashion in this chapter (and probably will continue to do so in the future). Bras were not invented until the 1920's, so women wore corsets instead. At the time, corsets either covered the breasts or gave enough support and coverage that women didn't worry about sagging or nipples poking out. Corsets also required “covers”, so the corset couldn't be seen through the dress or tear any delicate material. 
> 
> Prior to the Edwardian era, a women would wear a pair of bloomers and a chemise (or slip) underneath her corset. Because of how much slimmer dress silhouettes became during the 1900's, the “combination” (or “combo”) was invented! It combined the bloomers and chemise together into one garment (hence, the name). Some women still wore a pair of bloomers and a chemise underneath their dresses instead of the new combos, though.


	5. Friday, November 2, 1906

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is written in third POV.

“It's a shame Natasha didn't want to come along.”

Bucky shrugged as Steve adjusted his cuff links for probably the fifth time in as many minutes. The Sergeant knew, of course, why Natasha hadn't come along: she hated being inside of Companion Houses, after her own bad experiences with the Red Room. But he had promised to keep that fact a secret from Steve, who – after hearing such awful information – would likely dote on Natasha more than he already did. In exchange, he had requested for her to pick up a special order for his Babydoll.

“ _You're going to spoil her,”_ Natasha said, before she teased, _“I'll need to compete if I want to be the favorite.”_

“We should have taken a carriage,” Steve commented as they rounded the corner towards the Howard Stark House. At Bucky's insistence, they had taken the subway and agreed to walk the additional six blocks.

“Don't be a punk, Steve,” Bucky said, “And quit fidgeting. Everything will be fine.”

“... My desk, Buck. They were on my _desk_.”

“For heaven's sake, not this again.”

“I'm such an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot, you're a lawyer. There's a diff—”

“She must be mad at me, I just know it—”

“She is _not_ mad at you.” Steve was in one of his the-weight-of-the-world-is-on-my-shoulders guilt trips that Catholics were so fond of. Bucky could tell.

“She never replied to my letters, Buck.”

“We sent them with our packages on Tuesday, Steve. We told her that we were coming today. What would be the point in writing a letter?” When the Captain opened his mouth to retort, Bucky added firmly, “And even if she wrote one, postage is two cents a letter. Does this House even allow its Companions to have their own pocket money?” The Red Room certainly hadn't, and according to Clint and Laura, the House in Russia where the twins came from hadn't allowed it either.

Steve remained silent, but whether it was because he had no reply, or because they had finally reached the House, Bucky didn't know. Instead, Steve used the door knocker, and they waited.

Instead of the parlor maid, they were greeted by a young Companion who looked no older than twelve or thirteen, with bronze-colored skin and a red headscarf. Having more experience abroad than the average person, both men immediately recognized that she was from India; they pressed their palms together in front of their chests and bowed their heads in acknowledgment.

A great smile broke out across her face, and she repeated the traditional 'hello', before inquiring, “Are you the Captain and the Sergeant?”

“We are, indeed,” Steve said with a smile, before they heard a familiar voice from within:

“Samantha, you know very well to let Johanna open the door.”

“Yes, Madame Potts,” Samantha said, looking a little saddened as she stepped aside to let both men inside.

“Go on upstairs, before I have you help Amelia scrub the floors.” Of course, Madame Potts would not actually subject the young girl to punishment over something so small; she merely wanted Samantha to remove herself from the front hall.

Without as much as a 'goodbye' or a curtsy, Samantha burst up the stairs as fast as her legs could take her, shouting their Companion's name at the top of her lungs, along with an explanation of, “They're here! _They're_ _here_!” Steve bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, and Bucky shook his head and snorted.

“As you can see, you're created quite an uproar here, gentlemen,” Madame Potts said, gesturing for them to follow her towards her office.

“That was never my intention,” Steve said.

“Speak for yourself, Steve,” Bucky laughed, and Madame Potts let out a surprisingly lady-like sigh of exasperation.

“Phil has everything written up, according to the laws of New York and the United States government, and the regulations designated by S.H.I.E.L.D. All of it will require both of your signatures, and your Companion's signature, then you all shall be free to leave.”

They liked the sound of that.

**~ * ~**

'Signing paperwork' was too small of a description for what the S.H.I.E.L.D agent had prepared. Phil Coulson had, without any sort of exaggeration, a stack of papers for them to read through, make inquires about, and sign. Both men were accustomed to reading large amounts of legal jargon, and they understood these precautions were meant for their own benefit, as well as the benefit of their Little One.

Steve and Bucky had been reading through the mound of paper for a few minutes – verifying birth dates, family names, economic accounts and addresses – before someone quietly knocked on the door.

“You may come in,” Madame Potts said, and a moment later, their Babydoll entered the office, now in her new clothes – minus the coat, hat, and gloves (which had been dutifully placed in the hall closet for safekeeping). Everything fit wonderfully; the shortened hem of her tea dress was an inch or so above her ankles, instead of the standard floor-length, and her boots already had a few scuffs – from, no doubt, breaking them in since their arrival. The locket shined.

In her arms was a small cardboard box with her belongings in it. While the House uniforms did not belong to the girls, the trunks did, and they were allowed to take them once they left the House. Babydoll didn't have as much in her own trunk as some of the other girls did, so she has asked Madame Potts if the Howard Stark House might keep the trunk – and she take her possessions in the box.

“You're here,” she chirped, her smile lighting up her entire face, and she set the box on the nearby sofa before rushing over to her closest Keeper – which happened to be Steve. The Captain immediately pulled her into a strong hug and fought the urge to lift her off her feet. Instead, he peppered her face in soft kisses until she giggled, then let her go, so she could greet Bucky.

“It's good to know they get along, at least,” Coulson murmured to Madame Potts as Bucky gave his Companion a hug and a kiss on the forehead. He had worked for S.H.I.E.L.D for many years, and he knew that each Keeper reacted differently towards their Companions. Some treated their Companion was faint disinterest; some were friendly, and others, such as Steve and Bucky, made it obvious how much they loved their Companion.

“How do you do, Mr. Coulson?” Babydoll inquired as the Sergeant finally let her go.

“I'm fine, my dear,” he said with a small grin. “How are you?”

“I'm perfectly lovely, thank you.”

“There's a few things here you will need to look over too,” he informed her as Steve gingerly eased her onto his lap. (There were no other chairs, and he wasn't going to let her sit so far away on the sofa, not after being unable to see her for a month.) “And all of you will need to sign your identification forms.”

The next several minutes involved Agent Coulson assisting them through the remainder of the paperwork. Bucky was the first to read through his stack, signing his name along the way, before he passed the papers to Coulson. (They had paid the twenty-five dollar fee at a previous date, so they didn't concern themselves with that.) Their little Companion – who had the least amount of paperwork to sign – handed hers to Coulson next: she had taken the time to read everything twice, a warm feeling passing through her body as she realized she was finally having her 'forever home'.

Steve, who was the most accustomed to reading through similar documents every day at the office, took the longest with his paperwork. To a foolish person, his intense expression might have seemed angry – or they might have believed he was thinking of saying 'no', even after all of this time, because of how dutifully he read the paperwork. Thankfully, that was not the case; the Captain was simply deep in thought, and he was determined to make sure there was no possible loophole where their Little One could be unjustifiably taken away from them. After nearly ten minutes or so, Steve heard his Little One's voice in a soft whisper,

“Why are you bouncing me?”

Steve suddenly realized that his unconscious, nervous habit – which was, as she attested, bouncing his knee – probably seemed bizarre to her at the moment. He forced his leg to stop and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I'm sorry, Little One. That's a nervous habit of mine.”

“That's alright,” she said with a smile, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I didn't mind. I was just curious.”

Now done with the document, Steve signed everything and handed it over to Coulson, who gave it a quick look over. He did the same with Bucky's, then with their Companion's, before saying, “This is the last piece for you to sign,” and he set something that resembled a small booklet onto the desk. “Each of you needs to sign it, and then you,” Coulson looked at Babydoll, “will need to keep it on your person whenever you go outside without either of your Keepers.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Each of them signed the Companion dependency identification papers, which stated that she – in a legal sense – belonged to Steve and Bucky, who were bound to protect her and keep her safe, and that she was officially a part of both the Barnes family and the Rogers family. The CDI (as it was called) would also work as her official state ID (should her Keepers allow her to work), as a passport, and as her United States citizenship ID. Once all three of their names were signed to it, Coulson handed it to Babydoll, who scampered to put it into her box.

“Unless Agent Coulson has something else for you to sign—” Madame Potts began, before she noticed Phil shaking his head as he started to carefully place the documents into his briefcase. “Then the three of you should be free to go. I will be checking up on you in the next month or so.”

“Should we set an extra place at our table for Thanksgiving?” Steve inquired.

A delicate blush came across Madame Potts' face. “No, I shall be elsewhere.”

With the cardboard box in her arms, the little Companion walked over and planted herself beside Bucky as Agent Coulson quietly made his way out of the office. “How far away is your home?”

Bucky stroked her soft hair and gave her head another kiss. “ _Our_ home, Babydoll. And it's quite a ways. We're going to be riding the subway.”

“Why don't you hand that to me, Little One, and you can say goodbye to Madame Potts,” Steve suggested politely, and she nodded, before passing the very light box over to the Captain. As she trotted over to hug the House overseer and say goodbye, both Steve and Bucky peered into the box.

Aside from her CDI, there were the letters from Steve, still bound together with twine; a necklace box for her locket's safekeeping; a glass jar full of pennies, with a glass cap attached to some wire clasps, so it would only open on purpose; a small, full-looking drawstring purse, which Bucky immediately recognized as a purse of marbles; and a worn, hardback novel (the title was covered by her CDI, and neither man dare move it, in fear of being deemed nosy). All in all, it was a rather pitiful box, and both men felt rather disheartened by it. _This_ was _all_ their little Companion could say was her own?

“Would you like for me to carry that on the subway?” their Little One asked when she returned to their sides, and Steve shook his head, easing the box into a secure position underneath his arm.

“No, Little One, I can hold this.”

“But you may hold onto this,” Bucky teased, holding out one of his hands, which she happily took. They walked back into the front hallway, where the parlor maid had returned and now held their Companion's hat, coat, and gloves. Johanna assisted Babydoll with putting on her coat and the hat (which was almost the same color as her hair), but she wanted to put on her gloves herself. Just like the rest of the clothes her Keepers had gotten her, they fit wonderfully, and she felt very warm.

Once the three of them stepped onto the porch, their little Companion admitted softly, “Thank you. For everything. I, I don't know how to repay you for what you've done —”

Bucky gave her hand a squeeze. “You don't need to worry about that. You don't need to 'repay' us for anything. You are our family, and our Companion, and you being here with us is payment enough,” he said, his tone full of a very mild firmness. It was obvious he was trying not to spook their Companion, or have her think that she owed them anything for her gifts.

“But—”

“No 'buts',” Steve interjected quietly.

“Are you _sure_?”

“Completely positive,” Steve said.

“And I don't want to hear another word about it,” Bucky said gently, “Not about this, or anything else that's yours at the house.”

Her eyes widened with shock. It was clear she hadn't been expecting any more beautiful clothes such as the ones she currently had on. (Prior to moving into the Companion House, she only had two dresses at a single time: one for church, and another for the remainder of the week.) “But Bucky—”

“No 'buts',” Bucky reminded softly.

She looked rapidly between the two of them as her eyes started to gloss over with grateful tears. Bucky had a feeling there would be a lot of tears over the next week or so – though, hopefully, none would be bad. He remembered, of course, when Natasha had first arrived at the Barnes estate. In his young mind, she had cried at the _strangest_ of things. However, with adult hindsight and the knowledge of her treatment at the Red Room Academy, it had made sense for her to sob at being allowed to eat three meals a day without resorting to stealing – or to have a regular sleep schedule – or to having people love you unconditionally.

“I, I... I,” she stuttered, before Bucky pulled her to his chest. Neither man said anything when she started to cry. After a few moments, the Sergeant carefully lifted their Companion into his arms, similarly to how new grooms carried their brides, and he held her close, disregarding whatever looks fellow pedestrians might give them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder, with little effort in hiding her sobs.

Part of Steve felt a little envious: he was heart-broken that his Little One was in tears, but he also wanted to be the one to comfort her in her distress, not Bucky. Then he realized that Bucky was not holding their Companion like a bride: it was as if she were a life-sized doll who needed to be sheltered from the world around them. It was more protective and equally as loving, and Steve felt that small shard of envy disappear. He could see that Bucky needed her as much as she needed him right now, and he knew his own delicate moments with her would come in time. It wasn't something to be rushed, and he understood that.

“It's alright, Babydoll,” Bucky whispered into her hair, slowly making his way in the direction of the subway, with Steve beside him. “Everything's going to be alright now... We've got you...”

 


	6. Friday, November 2, 1906

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is written in second POV.

You couldn't remember the walk towards the subway, nor boarding or leaving the underground passage. At some point, amidst your tears against Bucky's shoulder, his arms enveloping you tightly, and his soft whispered reassurances that everything would be alright, you had fallen asleep. It was a mortifying concept to you – falling asleep in someone's arms – simply because you hadn't done something so intimate since you were a tiny girl on your father's or mother's (and occasionally Nicky's or Edward's) lap.

However, when you awoke, neither Bucky or Steve seemed to mind. In fact, they both seemed rather amused, if their smiles meant anything. Because you could feel the sun's warmth on your cheek, you knew you were not on the subway. From the sounds of the world around you, there seemed to be less people on the streets than where the House had been located – if the lack of footsteps and shouting was any indication. Where exactly in Brooklyn were you?

“Did you enjoy your catnap, Babydoll?” Bucky asked softly.

Truthfully, you had. Instead, you said, “I didn't mean to fall asleep.”

“That's alright,” Steve said kindly. “You probably needed it.” His tone made his unspoken _After all of your crying_ quite clear.

“I'm sorry,” you said, and Bucky shook his head.

“Don't be sorry for taking a nap – or crying. You don't ever need to apologize for that, alright?”

You nodded, and you felt Bucky kiss the top of your head.

“Do you want to walk and stretch your legs, Little One?” Steve asked, your box still underneath his arm.

You nodded again, and Bucky carefully eased you back onto your feet. Once you were standing, the world around you was a little clearer. The buildings were made of nice stone and marble or brick; the windows were large and clean, so were the streets. It was obvious, by the few pedestrians you saw, that this was a much wealthier district than what you were accustomed to. Prior to entering the Companion House, if you had ever found yourself in _this_ type of neighborhood, it would have been as a maid.

“We're only a few more blocks,” Steve added. “We'll make sure to introduce you to everyone when we arrive.”

“I thought you only lived with Natasha,” you said as the three of you continued down the street.

“Our home is quite large, so it will be the four of us – and the household staff. They're friendly, Babydoll: no need to look so nervous,” Bucky said.

You nodded, then you surprised yourself by asking, “May I hold your hand?”

Bucky smiled, before he took your hand in his own and squeezed it. “You may _always_ hold my hand. You don't even need to ask: just take it.”

“Okay,” you said, then – in a moment of boldness – you reached for Steve's open hand and took his as well. He gave your hand a ginger squeeze and winked, and you couldn't hide the smile that stretched across your face.

**~ * ~**

Once the three of you were close enough, Steve pointed out their, and now your, house. Truthfully, you were still in awe that you were walking around in this neighborhood. Some of the mansions were larger than the factories you'd seen or your family had worked in!

“It's so pretty,” you said as you came closer to the house. It was made of marble and stone, with large windows and at least four floors!

“Do you have your keys, Steve?” Bucky asked. “Mine are inside.”

Steve sighed and let go of your hand to search through his pockets. “You always forget, Buck—”

“That's why I keep you around,” he teased, and you giggled.

“Don't encourage him, Little One,” Steve teased as well. “That will only make him think he's funny. Here they are.”

“Remind me to have a house key made for you, Babydoll,” Bucky said as the three of you trotted up the porch steps. Instead of knocking and having someone open the front door for him, Steve unlocked it and let you and Bucky pass through first.

You eyes widened as you entered the mansion, and you were certain that your jaw had dropped as well. You were utterly speechless.

The front hallway has beautiful wood paneling and burgundy painted walls, with engravings around the floorboards and towards the high ceiling. There were electric lamps, and you could see a mirror further down the hallway, along with a thin and long table nearby that held a delicate-looking vase. You guessed, if there were still flowers in season, that the vase would be full of them. A great looming staircase was off towards the left. You could easily peek into through the two open thresholds on your right and left to see what was inside: a parlor with dark blue walls and many pieces of delicate furniture towards your right; an egg-shell colored dining hall on the left with a long table that must have seated at least ten!

“Oh, sirs! You are back!” a distinctly French-sounding female voice chirped. Two maids were shuffling over from down the hallway; they appeared to be around twenty-four or so: older than you, but younger than your Keepers. They also looked healthy and well-fed, unlike some servants of well-to-do households. One was very tall and slim, with bright blonde hair; the other was an inch or two smaller, with sandy reddish-brown hair and more freckles than you'd ever seen on a single person in your entire life. “Miss Romanoff said you were not expected until supper-time!”

“We took the subway instead of a carriage,” Steve explained politely as he and Bucky both took off their coats and hats. They handed their coats to the blonde maid, and their hats to the other. “It only takes twenty minutes, when it doesn't break down. ”

“Babydoll, this is Augustine,” Bucky gestured to the blonde, who curtsied politely, “and Kathleen.” When the freckly young woman curtsied too, you returned the gesture. “Girls, this is our Companion -” and when he said your name, you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose, and Kathleen grinned. “She doesn't really like her own name, for whatever reasons that may be, so feel free to address her in another manner, as long as it's appropriate.”

“Of course, sir,” Kathleen said at once, before adding to you, “May I take your things, Miss?” You could hear an Irish accent in her words, and you couldn't help but smile. Her voice was so lyrical, you wanted her to keep talking!

Truthfully, you would have preferred that Kathleen call you something other than _Miss_ , but you knew that – technically – as a Companion in a wealthy household, your status was higher than hers. Madame Potts had been strict about Johanna referring to the Companions at the Stark House as _Miss,_ and her _Madame_ _Potts_ , because anything less – according to her – was less than proper. Still, you nodded and carefully took off the warm coat and hat and your gloves, before handing them to her.

“Could you please take this box to her bedroom?” Steve directed gently to Kathleen, setting your box of possessions on the nearby table. “You can just set it on her bed.”

“O' course, sir!”

As Kathleen shuffled off with your winter attire and Steve's own coat, and the small box, Bucky asked, “Has Natasha returned from running errands?”

“Yes, sir, she came home about an hour or so ago,” Augustine said.

“Good, good,” Bucky mumbled to himself.

“What kind of errands did you send her on, Bucky?” Steve asked, as Augustine slipped away down the hall behind Kathleen.

“Oh, I just asked her to pick up something,” Bucky said in an off-handed tone (which sounded almost _too_ nonchalant), before he turned to you, “Why don't Steve and I show you around the house, Babydoll?”

**~ * ~**

The mansion was a _dream_. Not that any sort of mansion wouldn't be a dream, but knowing that you would be living _here_ made this house seem even more ethereal.

On the ground floor, there was the large parlor (with a grand piano!), the dining hall, a lavatory, and the kitchen. While the dining hall and the parlor had been lavishly decorated for comfort, the kitchen held a more practical air: simple polished tile floors and white walls, a wooden table and shelves with plates, a coal stove with an attached water heater, a separate fireplace, an ice box, and a sink with a water pump. There were drawers all about the room, which you presumed held utensils and various cooking wares. There were two doors on the other end of the kitchen: one which clearly lead outside, and another which obviously didn't; you assumed it lead into a basement. There was a small saucer of milk beside the door leading outside, and there was Black Panther: a lean, completely black cat lapping at the milk, completely disinterested in the world around him. A thin, green collar was around his neck.

A somewhat hardy-looking woman was in the middle of it all, working quickly but efficiently, and she looked up at the three of you when Steve opened the door.

“There you are, Sirs!” she said. Her black hair was graying a little at the temples, and she appeared to be in her mid to late forties, but she didn't have a harsh looking face. She looked quite nice. “And this must be the new Little Missus! What's your name, dove?”

You told her, with Steve rubbing your back comfortingly, before you added, “I like _dove_ better, though.” _Little_ _Missus_ wasn't bad either, although it was certainly more childish than _dove_.

“She's not overly fond of her name, Mrs. Wilkes,” Steve said, and the Cook gave him a small smile.

“You ought not to call me Mrs, Sir. It isn't proper,” she said, and Steve shrugged.

“What are you making?” you asked curiously. Whatever she had cooking over the stove in her pot, it smelled wonderful.

“Supper, dove. Cooked ham with gravy, rolls, mashed potatoes, asparagus and spinach salad, and pound cake,” Mrs. Wilkes said.

“Thank you,” Bucky said when he noticed how wide your eyes became in wonder. That all sounded delicious! He stroked your hair and whispered, “Come along, Babydoll. Mrs. Wilkes needs to get back to her work, and you have the rest of the house to see.”

You had no objections to that.

The second floor had two lavatories – one of which had a bathtub, and the other a new contraption that you had never seen before: Steve called it a “shower”. There were a fewer amount of doors, which meant the rooms were larger, and Steve let you know what was inside without opening them. Steve's and Bucky's joint bedroom: that confirmed several suspicions you had, but that didn't bother you, and both men visibly relaxed when you didn't react negatively. Natasha's bedroom: Bucky knocked and didn't receive an answer, which meant she was elsewhere. Your room: Steve had scooped you up in his arms when you tried to get in and twirled you around.

“I want to look inside!” you laughed, pressing your face into his shoulder to avoid dizziness.

“You can look later, Little One,” he cooed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let's show you everything else first.”

The third floor had one lavatory (with a bathtub), a surprisingly barren room (you assumed it was for storage), four separate guest rooms of differing sizes, and – to your utter surprise – a room that could easily pass as a smaller version of a school-room from the Companion House. There was a chalkboard, a professor's desk, a student's desk, a full bookshelf, and several unopened boxes with _fragile_ written across the sides.

“I thought I was done with school,” you admitted quietly. Of course, you had no problem with learning new things, or reading, or any of the basic elements of the school-room. But sitting in classes all morning and afternoon had been _dreadfully_ boring when you would have preferred to go outside or play the piano – and, yes, occasionally cause mischief.

“Not quite,” Steve said. “A good friend of ours has agreed to be your tutor, but you won't be meeting him until the new year.” And they had left it at that for now.

The fourth floor had a fifth guest room (which was incredibly shocking to you – the idea of needing _five_ guest rooms), another lavatory, and two more storage rooms (“They're packed full of furniture, Little One. Don't go in there, unless you want to feel incredibly claustrophobic.”) There was also an office (Steve's), a study (Bucky's), and a drawing room. Bucky knocked on the drawing room door, and from inside you heard a woman's voice call, “Who is it?”

“An errand boy,” Bucky said, winking at you, “We've come bearing our Companion.”

Almost at once, the drawing room's door swung open, and your jaw almost dropped. The picture within your locket had done her no justice. Natasha was easily the most beautiful woman you had ever laid eyes upon: red hair styled into a fluffy bun, flawless skin, large green eyes, and standing a few inches taller than you. Bucky had been right: she looked about Steve's age, but when she smiled – which she did, the moment her eyes laid upon you – they held a more mischievous quality that was similar to Bucky's. Between the lacy embroidery of her own burgundy tea gown (which actually reached the floor), you could see a locket like your own.

“Hello,” you said, a smile stretching across your face.

She immediately reached for your hands, pulled you a little closer, and wrapped her arms around you in an embrace. You couldn't help but cuddle close: she was softer than either of your Keepers, but there was still a protective quality to her that you felt comforted by.

“You two shall be lucky if I don't steal her away,” Natasha directed towards them, and you couldn't help but giggle against her shoulder. Then she kissed your head. “I'm glad to finally meet you.”

“Thank you for the locket,” you said quietly. “I love it.”

“You're very welcome, precious,” Natasha purred, then she looked at Bucky. “It's in the attic, if you're curious.”

“What's in the attic, Bucky?” Steve asked, putting his hands into his pockets.

“Oh, I didn't realize you were curious, Stevie,” Bucky teased.

“What's in the attic?” you asked, and he winked.

“Oh, I knew _you_ were curious, Babydoll —”

“Quit being a tease, Bucky,” Natasha said calmly, placing her hands on your shoulders and gently shepherding you towards the final staircase, “It's not as amusing as you think. Go find someone else to bother: I want to spend time with my precious one.”

To their credit, neither Steve nor Bucky followed you both up the narrower hallway towards the attic – which, you presumed, attested to how much they revered Natasha. On the fifth floor, there was a thin hallway, barely big enough for the two of you to walk through side by side, a small water closet with a sink, and one more door for what you assumed was a large storage room. Natasha let you open the door, and when you stepped inside, it most definitely was _not_ a storage room.

There were three windows that flooded the attic with bright light; each window had its own seat, so someone might sit in front of it and look down below at the world. The walls were painted a soft yellow, resonating a rather cheerful air. The ceiling was lower than most of the other rooms in the house – there was only perhaps two feet or so above your head – but the attic had more width. The majority of the wooden floor was covered by a long, soft white rug. There was a white circular table, with a lacy tablecloth, and three chairs, with three large packages resting on the table. There was a desk – a proper desk, only slightly smaller – with a puffed stool. A scooter, with two short white wheels and a long blue handle, which looked about your size; a large, decorative trunk near a far wall; a white fireplace, with a large black grate. Several soft, large, embroidered and colorful pillows were scattered about for comfort. There was even a rather large bookcase, but there was no books inside of it. It was a very quaint attic!

“It's so pretty in here.”

“This was Steve's idea,” Natasha said, perching herself in one of the table chairs. “Each of us has our own private room for our leisure, and he thought it would be fair for you to have the same courtesy.”

“Wait... this room is meant for me?” you asked softly, feeling rather overwhelmed again. You had guessed that you would have your own bedroom: many Companions did, unless they would wed their Keepers – or lived with an extremely large family. Or, at least, you thought you might share a room with Natasha, since she was a fellow Companion. But to have another room of your own? That was a far cry from the Companion House – or the three room apartment your family had lived in: your parents slept in one room, your brothers another, and you on the couch!

Natasha nodded, before she held out her hand; you took it and allowed her to guide you to sit nearby. “You are a part of our family. I don't often see Bucky and Steve as overjoyed as they were the day they returned from your House with the news about you. Steve could not stop talking, and Bucky nearly tore himself in two to get everything prepared for your arrival.”

“They wrote me such lovely letters,” you admitted. “They've already done so much, and so have you. I, I don't know how to thank you all.”

“I felt the same way,” Natasha soothed. “When I was taken from the Red Room Academy, Bucky's parents were like gifts from God.”

Honestly, you felt the same way about Bucky and Steve – and Natasha as well – but there was something in her voice, and the way that she carried herself, that you knew she meant more behind it. The presence of the Barnes family had higher stakes to her, than our Keepers had for you in this current moment.

“Did, did you not like your Companion House?” It happened on occasion: some Houses were not proper fit for a Companion, so they might request a transfer. It was almost always given, but it could take several weeks or months.

Natasha was quiet for several before saying, “If I tell you this, it does not leave this room, under any circumstance. Bucky is aware of this, but Steve is not to know.” When you nodded, she continued: “My biological family died in Stalingrad when I was three. I don't remember them, but I have been told that they were sick. I was healthy, but children do not become Companions at such a young age in Russia, so I was sent overseas to Minnesota. The Red Room Academy was one of four American Houses that taught Russian, and it was the only one that was willing to take a three-year-old girl. Before George and Winifred Barnes, they were all I knew. I was there until I was ten.”

You could tell by Natasha's face that she was deep in thought, and you didn't dare interrupt.

“I would scrub floors until my hands blistered and calloused and bled. They would give us so little food, that I learned to give other girls black eyes and broken bones by the time I was six, so I could eat. Our clothes were threadbare, and we were always cold. When we did not study properly, or caused any mischief; talked too loud, spoke out of turn, anything, they beat us like mules – with canes and straps until great welts and bruises erupted on our skin. The older girls were _touched_.” Natasha took in a deep breath, and you could see a fire behind her eyes: like a great dragon, who could smite anyone in her path who dare defy her. She had seen too much darkness in the world, and any being who would try to send her back would suffer. “I was very lucky that I was removed before anything else could happen to me.”

“I hope you reported the Red Room to S.H.I.E.L.D,” you said softly.

Natasha took your hand again to squeeze it. “Yes, my Keepers reported the House to S.H.I.E.L.D. They lost their funding and were shut down within the year.” Unless it was small enough to rely solely upon generous benefactors, most Companion Houses had heavy funding from S.H.I.E.L.D. If a House lost that money, it would inevitably lead to its closing, and a House only lost government funding when they had broken regulations for the safety and care of its Companions. “Winifred Barnes also convinced me to visit a counselor, for my nightmares and mental ailments, and it took many years, but I am in a far better place now than I was back then.”

“Why don't you want Steve to know?” You didn't want to be overly intrusive, of course, but you were curious!

“I have no desire for him to view me as fragile,” Natasha purred. Her voice was rather soothing to you, almost like a cat's purr. “Bucky knows I have overcome what I have gone through. Steve has a tendency to... to _dote_ upon others, if they allow it.”

Her reasoning made sense to you, but still... “Steve doesn't seem like one to dote. Bucky does, though.”

Natasha smiled in a rather mischievous way, and you knew one again that you both would be very good friends. “Oh, give him time, precious. He will dote upon you, I'm quite sure. And Bucky does not dote as much as he tends to spoil. He was quite excited to turn you into a spoiled little Companion.”

“I don't want to become spoiled,” you admitted. You had met several Companions over the years – and several people who weren't Companions – whom had been wealthy their entire lives. They had often been rather haughty, and you had been told that was because they were spoiled. You didn't want to become that!

Natasha chuckled. “Perhaps I ought to rephrase that: Bucky was pleased _to_ spoil you, not for you to _become_ spoiled. He has a fortune with his factories, and he takes pride in spending it on those around him. But if you do start to _act_ spoiled, I'm certain any one of us shall rein you in.” Then she let go of your hand to grab one of the packages and place it in your lap. “Now, on the subject of spoiling, Bucky had me fetch these for you.”

The package had some definite weight to it, and there were two more on the table! You suddenly felt tears prickling at your eyes, and you were silent for several moments. “I, I don't know if I can accept this.”

“Do you not want to look inside it first?” Natasha asked in a soothing tone.

“N-No, I do, but... I don't know how I'll ever be able to pay everything back. I don't think I've earned this.” When she opened her mouth to speak, you cut Natasha off, even though you knew it was rude. “I was taught that when you receive a present from a loved one, you repay them back somehow. N-Not necessarily through money, but you make it up to them. I, I won't ever be able to —”

“You don't have to worry about that,” Natasha said firmly. “Please listen to me: we want to give you these things. You do not need to worry about repaying us for giving you clothes, or a roof over your head, and anything else, regardless of any cost or time invested into it. You are our family. This is what we do for each other. It's Steve's and Bucky's job to take care of you – and mine too, unofficially; and it's your job to be happy and humble and occasionally help me cause mischief around here.” She smiled at you, and you couldn't help but smile a little back. “Now, open your present.”

You nodded and took a deep breath to hold back your tears, before you started to unlace the twine around the package in your lap. There was no card, since it was obvious whom it was from, but before you could open it, there was a polite knock at the attic door.

“Come in,” Natasha answered.

Augustine poke her head in. “Sergeant Barnes has asked for his Companion and you, Miss Romanoff, to attend supper,” she said politely.

“Is supper ready?” Natasha murmured to herself, pulling a pocket watch from her skirt. “I'll be damned: it's almost six-thirty. You can open these later, precious. Bucky is never grumpier than when he misses a meal.”

**~ * ~**

Bucky sat at the head of the table, with Steve at one side, and they both rose from their chairs politely when you and Natasha entered the dining hall.

“There you two are,” Bucky said as Natasha claimed the other open seat beside him. You quietly sat beside Steve, who looked quite pleased to have you nearby. “I was beginning to think you had run away.”

“Don't give me any ideas,” Natasha teased as Kathleen and Augustine brought out the first course.

You were relatively quiet for most of supper. Not because you had nothing to say, but because the food tasted delicious! The food at the Howard Stark Companion House had been nourishing and filled your stomach well, especially after having so little to stretch between your family of five before becoming a Companion. But it was obvious from the first bite that Mrs. Wilkes had a particular knack for cooking: the asparagus in the salad was grilled slightly, not broiled, and the spinach was fresh. The rolls were light and fluffy, with little bits of cheese and butter baked inside.

You also began to notice that Natasha was right. Steve did have a tendency to dote: he would occasionally move his hand to stroke your hair, or rub your shoulder or back, while he spoke – even if he wasn't speaking to you directly. It was almost as if his physical affection towards you was innate: he was doing these things without any sort off thought. You didn't want to point it out to him, because you honestly found it rather sweet, but Natasha's occasional winks when he would play with your hair and your giggles almost gave it away.

You also realized how exceptionally clever Natasha was. From what you could see, she often let Bucky or Steve – or both men – think that she knew less than she actually did. Whether this was for her own enjoyment, or just to be sly, you were unsure. But it was very amusing to watch.

“She'll need to meet the Bartons soon,” Natasha remarked after Kathleen had retrieved their empty dishes, and Augustine replaced them with plates of ham, gravy, and potatoes. “Once they return from their 'summer' home.”

“They went on vacation for Thanksgiving?” Bucky inquired.

“It's their tradition,” Steve said.

“That house is closer to Laura's family than their apartment,” Natasha explained. “It allows them to all be together for the holidays.”

“Who are the Bartons?” you asked.

“They're good friends of ours,” Natasha said. “Well, mine more than Steve's or Bucky's. Clint and Laura Barton – and their Companions, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. Twins. I'll introduce you to Clint when he returns after Thanksgiving.”

“They're not staying between Thanksgiving and Christmas?” Bucky asked.

"No. Clint is returning for a few weeks to continue his work for S.H.I.E.L.D, and Laura has business with our local chapter.” When she noticed you perk up at the mention of S.H.I.E.L.D, Natasha added, “Clint's a Companion doctor. If you're ever sick, he will be the one to treat you.”

“Oh.”

“You'll meet all of them after the New Year.”

“Or, perhaps we ought to visit our own 'summer' home during Christmas?” Steve mentioned.

“You have more than one house?” you asked in amazement.

Steve laughed and kissed the top of your head. “We do, Little One. The Bartons are able to visit theirs more often than we have as of late, because of our practices, but perhaps we ought to change that.”

“There's a great yard to play in,” Bucky teased, “with a pond and plenty of trees to climb.”

“And switches to cut,” Natasha teased back.

“That only happened once, Nat.”

“Once? If you say so.” If Natasha's face meant anything, that was obviously a lie, and you couldn't help but giggle.

“Babydoll, don't encourage her. She says nothing but lies.”

**~ * ~**

“Such a sorrowful expression, _ma_ _petite._ ”

You didn't speak French, but you knew a pet name when you heard one, and any pet name was nicer than your actual name. “I'm not sad. I'm just thinking.”

“Ahhh. I understand,” Augustine said.

After supper, Steve, Bucky and Natasha had needed to discuss something beyond your ears, and you hadn't bothered to ask any why. Augustine and Kathleen, then, had been charged with assisting you out off your day clothes and into your nightdress. There were several buttons down the back of your dress that you were unable to reach, and since you hadn't been inside of your bedroom before, you had not known where anything was. They had guided you in the correct direction once you reached the second floor again (with you making mental notes to try and memorize each room as swiftly as possible), before you opened the door.

Your bedroom was more beautiful than anything you could hope for. The attic was bright and vivacious, while your bedroom was more soothing and serene: the walls were a deep forest green, with black carpet on top of the hardwood floor. There was a lit fireplace and a grate, a wooden dressers with several drawers, a tall wardrobe that nearly touched the ceiling, a desk that was a perfect size for you (with your box sitting on top of it), a smaller vanity with a circular mirror, and a large cabana bed: three people of your size could sleep in it and still have space!

After Kathleen had noticed how teary-eyed you had become, she had urged you to sit on the soft, downy bed and take a few deep breaths. You tried focusing on her lyrical voice and what she was saying: _“Deep breaths, miss... Just take deep breaths, in – and out, good, good...”_ It had taken several minutes, but you had eventually calmed down.

Now, of course, you sat on top of your bed in a long-sleeved, cotton chemise. It was slightly more decorative than your nightgown from the Companion House – the collar and cuffs resembled lace, but were much thicker – but you knew there were more in one of the drawers. As Kathleen helped you out of your clothes, Augustine checked each drawer to make sure your clothes had been packed away neatly. Silk stockings, bloomers, combos and chemises; five corsets and no less than ten corset covers; and petticoats upon petticoats of lace and silk were stored in the dresser drawers. There were many embroidered and lacy gowns in a rainbow of colors, sturdy skirts, and billowy-sleeved blouses were in the wardrobe, along with no less than four pairs of shoes.

“ _I have never seen so much lace and soft things in my life,”_ Augustine had said, shaking out one of the petticoats. It had looked fine to you, but according to her, it was not. _“I think that Marie Antoinette did not have such a trousseau.”_

“What are you thinking of, miss?” Kathleen, who was brushing your hair, asked. You could easily brush your hair yourself, but she had clicked her tongue at you when you'd reached for the brush. (“Let me, miss. Augustine and I take the same train home, and it will give me something to do before we both leave for the night.”)

“Just... everything, I suppose.”

“Do you not like it here?” Augustine inquired.

“No, I like it very much!” you quickly replied. “I, I just think it will take some getting used to – after being in the Companion House for so long.”

“You will be settled in soon enough, _ma_ _petite_ ,” Augustine cooed, shutting the wardrobe and the dresser. “Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers are very kind, and so is Miss Romanoff. They have said nothing but good things since they said you would be coming.”

“And you can always ask us for help whene'er you need it,” Kathleen said, settling the hairbrush onto the vanity. “None of us want you to feel out o' place.” She urged you to get up under the covers, and you obeyed. The Companion House had a strict lights-out schedule, so you were accustomed to being in bed before eleven (or, if you were particularly naughty, ten or nine-thirty).

They bid you good night, before they headed towards the door, when you heard a scratching noise. It wasn't a knock, and you had no time to muse over whom it was: Kathleen opened the door, and Black Panther sauntered into your bedroom and immediately hopped onto the bed with you.

“See?” Augustine said with a grin. “We all want you to feel settled.”

With that, they left you to cuddle up under the warm covers, with the black cat curling into a ball not far from your side. Somewhere, amidst the sounds of the soft, crackling fire and the steadying, rumbling purr of the cat, you fell asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, more history facts!
> 
> In a wealthy household with servants, there were very strict rules of propriety about how they might address each other (among others, which will be explored later). Servants could be addressed by their names by their employers, but servants had to refer to their employers by something of a higher standing. For example, Kathleen and Augustine can be referred to by their names, but Steve or Bucky would need to be called, Sir or Captain / Sergeant, and Natasha is Miss Romanoff or Miss Natasha. As a Companion, the rules are a little more blurry, so Kathleen and Augustine can use terms of endearment with the Reader character, instead only calling her 'Miss'. 
> 
> I did a lot of research on what a house during the Edwardian time would look like, especially kitchens (since I didn't want to add anything that had yet to be invented). Most of its essentials are obvious, but – since refrigerators were not yet invented – ice “boxes” (a smaller version of an ice house) were in wealthy households. There were no microwaves, so stoves and “ovens” (fireplaces) were used. Basements were used for storage of canned goods and various root vegetables during the winter months. Most children had their own nursery or playroom, but these would not be in an attic: attics were usually built into servant's quarters. 
> 
> Bathrooms were bizarre to read about: in the 1900's, there was a public awareness of how important it was to have bathrooms with flushing toilets – to prevent disease – but poorer households did not have tubs or showers. They had hot or cold water in a water basin, and used sponges to clean themselves; to economize on water, some families could not bathe except for once a week or so. For very wealthy families, they could bathe every day, or every other day, in the new showers or in a bathtub. Water closet is a term for a bathroom with only a toilet: most Americans now use the term “half-bathroom”, since it lacks a shower or bathtub. 
> 
> Mental illness wasn't also something that many people talked about. There were psychiatrists and counselors, but “crazy” people (which could mean any sort of mental illness) usually did not visit counselors. They were sent away to asylums, given electroshock therapy treatments, and various sorts of torturous therapies to suppress whatever illness they had. It was brutal, so Natasha having a good counselor following the Red Room was incredibly rare.


	7. November 1906

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is written in third POV.

It didn't take particularly long, somewhere between the second and third week, before the household of Barnes, Rogers, and Romanoff – with the addition of their little Companion – began to settle into some resemblance of order and routine.

Steve continued to go into his law firm each week-day, though he started to return home for luncheon when he could, in order to spend more time with his loved ones. (Peggy and Angie both noticed this, but wisely didn't comment on it.) Bucky was often absent, as was Natasha, so his little Companion was typically his only lunch date – which was fine for both of them. She would gently prod him with questions about his firm, and he would answer, as honestly as possible without breaking any contracts or promises of confidentiality. In turn, he would listen to her prattle on about she had found in the trunk in the attic, or that she was practicing a new piece of music that she discovered in the parlor, or what room she had found the cat in that morning. (It was typically the water closet on the bottom floor, if he wasn't asleep on her stomach when she woke up.)

On his days off, Steve would escort his Companion on walks around Brooklyn and to visit nearby parks. More than once, he needed to convince her that climbing trees was _not_ an appropriate activity, regardless of how fun it might be; once she would begrudgingly climb down, they would return home, with her lying over his shoulder as punishment. Other times, they quietly spent time together in the parlor, thinking aloud and bonding. If the mood struck her, his Little One played the piano for him, or she asked that he read to her.

“Little One, I don't think you'll want to listen to me read – especially since I know you can read for yourself.”

“I know, but your voice is soothing. Please, Steve?”

And he would oblige, but only if she sat nearby – with her head resting upon his shoulder or against his knee. If she picked his shoulder, he would wrap one arm around her and rest his cheek on top of her head, but if she chose his knee, he would stroke her hair absentmindedly – all while he read about secret gardens, or Dorothy, or Alice, or whichever heroine or hero or villain was within the story. The attic bookcase had been filled with several novels – thanks to Natasha and Bucky, and they had slowly been making their way through them. (Steve had been incredibly surprised when she explained that she had brought _Frankenstein_ with her from the Companion House.)

On Sundays, the two of them attended mass at the Catholic church a few blocks from their mansion. She was calm and listened intently during the sermons, but Steve quickly discovered that – despite previously playing the organ during church services – his Little One was not overly fond of singing in churches. Or, rather, she wasn't fond of people outside of the choir singing in church. When the choir sang, or the organist played by themselves, her eyes lit up, and she wouldn't stop smiling. But if the priest told them to stand and turn to a page in the hymnal, her smile quickly transformed into a pout.

When Steve asked her about it one afternoon during their walk home from mass, she admitted, “The priests _always_ have the music a beat too slow, and nobody knows the right pitch. I can never find the right pitch because if I'm not playing the organ, then I'm standing in front of someone who can't sing. The woman behind us today was _completely_ tone-deaf, didn't you notice that?”

Despite knowing very little about music himself, Steve _had_ noticed. It had been impossible not to. Instead, he said, “You shouldn't make comments like that, Little One. It's rude: it might hurt her feelings if she heard you say that.”

“But what if she doesn't _know_ she's tone-deaf? Priest Fredrick said they wanted more women in the choir: what if she tries to sing with them? She'll ruin everything!” Steve had merely given her a stern look, and she added, “Alright, I won't say anything.”

“Good girl.”

**~ * ~**

Natasha, most of the time, kept to her own sort of schedule. She ate meals at the mansion infrequently, when she was not out o' doors or otherwise engaged. She visited fellow suffragists at their houses, or offices, to discuss politics and plan peaceful protests – and often had luncheon or supper with them afterwards. Miss Romanoff had made no offers to bring the Little One along, which offended the young Companion initially, until Natasha explained:

“You are not legally my Companion, precious, and your Keepers are on a sort of probation until this time next year. If something were to happen to you, even if you willingly attended a rally or a meeting, then they could lose you for putting you in harm's way.”

(She wasn't even remotely offended after that, and Natasha promised to bring her along in the distant future, if she was still willing.)

Otherwise, Natasha sketched and painted in her drawing room, or read thick books in Russian and Romanian and French. She knew multiple languages, and she had promised to teach her precious one to speak Russian, or a similar tongue, at a later date. Sometimes, when her Keepers were busy, Natasha would escort her about the neighborhood and around nearby parts of Brooklyn. (Or, rather, Natasha would walk, and the little Companion would ride her scooter, always making sure to remain in Natasha's line of sight.) They would window-shop or chat with street vendors; if Natasha bumped into a friend, she would greet them and introduce the Companion as Bucky's.

After the third or fourth time this occurred, she inquired, “Why don't you say that Steve is my Keeper as well?”

Natasha sighed and gave her hand a squeeze. “Precious, I'm afraid some people wouldn't understand. But you do, and I do, and so does our family, and that's all that matters.” Then Natasha escorted her into a nearby ice cream parlor so they could share a sundae, and the matter was dropped.

All in all, Miss Romanoff was a rather mysterious, but very kind, individual.

**~ * ~**

Having taken many days off to prepare the house for his Babydoll's arrival, Bucky worked a great deal of additional hours. Both as a means of preparing for the holidays, and to make up for lost time. Normally, he wasn't one to overwork himself, but his job occasionally required it (or, the job required it, if he wanted to perform well – which Bucky always did).

He conducted his surprise visits to his factories and, luckily, found nothing to complain about. His profits were as excellent as ever, and the projected profits for Christmas looked even more hopeful. His associates seemed to recognize his somewhat surly attitude when he arrived early each morning. They understood the feeling: being dragged away from family, or new Companions, because of work was enough to make any man ill-tempered. They gave him their congratulations – then steered clear of the Sergeant as much as humanly possible.

When he was not working, he was either asleep or attempting to spend time with Steve and their Companion. In his own mind, Bucky felt as if he were failing miserably, both as a Keeper and as Steve's lover: it wasn't uncommon for him to leave for the office before the maids even arrived and return long after the sun had set, and his family had gone to bed. Steve, asleep in their shared room, and their Companion, snuggled under her blanket with the cat. It broke his heart.

He wanted to see Steve perusing legal documents in his office, and whining a low, “Bucky, stop it,” if he came up behind the Captain and started kissing on the soft spot behind the blond's ear. Being so close to his Stevie, without the worry about business or pedestrian sneers, was a rare comfort. He wanted to see his Babydoll cuddled up with a book and the cat in the attic, or playing the giant piano in the parlor (which had previously belonged to Winifred Barnes), or perhaps riding her scooter right outside of the mansion. He wanted to scoop her up into his arms, press kisses all over her face, and ask about her day. He missed the sound of her cheery voice.

He missed his family. He could not wait for the Thanksgiving holiday, and the subsequent Christmas holiday, where he would be able to spend time with them. Following New Years, he knew his hours would lessen significantly, and the light at the end of the tunnel was bright. He missed his loved ones, but he knew his hard work for them would pay off. It always did.

**~ * ~**

For the newest addition to the household, life had become one great adventure after another.

Many hours were spent in the attic, reading from the great stack of books that she'd unraveled from her packages. Most of them were thick and intended for an adult audience, while others were surprisingly childlike. _A Little Princess. Alice in Wonderland_. _The_ _Scarlet_ _Pimpernel._ _The_ _Souls_ _of_ _Black_ _Folk_. _The_ _Call_ _of_ _the_ _Wild._ Several books from L. Frank Baum and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Almost everything done by William Shakespeare, and there was still plenty of room upon the bookshelf. There was no greater joy than curling up against one of the many cushions, or perched in a window-seat, with a fire crackling in the grate. Often, Black Panther lazily purred nearby, and, sometimes, for the fun of it, she would read aloud to the cat – who would either listen with large gray eyes, or immediately fall asleep.

Within the attic's trunk, she had discovered a vast amount of childhood trinkets. Despite her initial surprise, she was very grateful, and it made sense to her, since one of her Keepers owned a toy factory. Several puzzles of scenery, each with no less than a hundred pieces. A large, cloth bag of shiny marbles (she added her own small stash to it). A set of jacks. Two sets of playing cards: one was far more decorative than the other. A board game she'd never played before, called Monopoly. Tiddly winks. A miniature cup on a stick, with a string and a wooden ball attached to it. A wooden ring-toss game, with a short, ornamental staff attached to a base and four wooden rings. A jump rope. A thick, red tassel attached to a thin rod via some string.

There was still plenty of room in the trunk, but the final toy had confused her. When she took it out to have a better look, she initially mistook it for some sort of infant's toy, until she noticed Black Panther batting at the tassel – then she realized it was meant for the cat, not her. After that, she spent nearly an hour twirling around the attic, watching Black Panther follow the red tassel around and bat at it.

If she were tired of reading, she played jacks or marbles by herself, when Natasha and her Keepers were engaged, until the cat would inevitably push a marble out of line or gnaw on a jack. The puzzles were difficult, but she relished in the challenge – and made sure to keep the pieces on the desk, to avoid losing them. She became accustomed to placing the ring-toss anywhere around the room and trying to win, regardless of how far away she might stand. She also slowly became better at Solitaire.

However, the scooter was her favorite new possession by far. When the sun shone and no one was around – and the maids and Mrs. Wilkes were hard at work, she would sneak the scooter down from the attic and outside, then spend a great deal of time just puddling around, waving hello at nameless strangers and street vendors. The fresh air and exercise felt good, rather than being cooped up all day. After accidentally missing luncheon one afternoon (which, thankfully, Steve had not come home either), she always made sure to take her scooter out after luncheon. She didn't want to endure Mrs. Wilkes' maternally soft scold – or, worse still, any potential scolding from Steve.

The rest of the time, she spent with Steve or Natasha. She loved being around them, but their presence also reminded her that Bucky was away at his office. Steve had explained it early on, after the third consecutive day where she hadn't seen him:

“Unfortunately, around Christmas each year, Bucky tends to get swamped with work and ideas, so he puts in more hours.”

“But Christmas isn't until next month, Steve.”

“He put in many vacation days to prepare everything for you, precious,” Natasha said, stroking the Companion's hair in sympathy. “He'll be back soon, I promise.”

That knowledge did little to soothe her, however, and she missed Bucky in private, so neither Steve nor Natasha might think she favored him over their company. That wasn't true, of course: if Steve or Natasha were gone for an extended period of time, she would miss them equally.

**~ * ~**

Truth be told, the youngest member of the household had nearly forgotten that the holiday was upon them. It wasn't until she noticed Mrs. Wilkes working on a large turkey on Wednesday when she realized the next day was Thanksgiving. Natasha spent supper with her and Steve – with involved an enormous plate of finger sandwiches, salad, and lemonade, since tomorrow's workload for their Cook would be greater.

“Will Peggy and Angie be joining us this year?” Natasha asked, and Steve nodded.

“She asked if she might join us. Of course I said yes.”

“Margaret Carter is joining us for Thanksgiving?” the little Companion asked, her eyes wide.

Steve chuckled. “Yes, her and Angie Martinelli. They wanted to meet you earlier, but Peg thought it would be best to give you some space to get settled in.”

The next morning, Babydoll was the first to arrive at breakfast, so she ate biscuits, eggs, and fried ham alone for several minutes until Steve and Bucky descended the stairs together. Bucky looked quite tired, and Steve slightly disheveled, but both men's eyes lit up at the sight of their Little One, Bucky especially.

“Bucky!” she chirped, immediately abandoning her food to bolt over towards her Sergeant. He met her about halfway, pulling her into his arms in a spine-crushing hug and refusing to let go. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Babydoll,” he said, struggling to suppress his guilty and heartbroken tone, as he kissed her head several times. “I missed seeing you so much.”

Steve quietly left them to their reunion, whispering to Augustine to please fetch him and Bucky a plate for breakfast, and he made no attempt to eavesdrop on their hushed conversation. He had a feeling it involved Bucky apologizing for being gone for so long, while reassuring her how much she was loved.

The Sergeant had admitted to his worry earlier that morning: _“What is she doesn't want to be with both of us anymore, Steve, because I'm not around? What if she only wants one Keeper?”_

“ _Buck, she misses you. I can tell,”_ Steve had reassured him softly. _“You have nothing to worry about.”_

However, Steve did draw the line when Bucky attempted to let their Companion sit in his lap during breakfast: they had to maintain some resemblance of propriety (and they all needed to eat without interference). Bucky wouldn't be returning to work until Monday, and the four days of bonding would help settle everyone's nerves. That's what the holiday was about, after all: being with family and loved ones.

 


	8. December 5 - 10, 1906

The young Companion awoke suddenly in the middle of the night. Her throat felt like wool, her stomach was upset, and her face hot. She found it difficult to breath through her nose. Her head was pounding – and she scrambled out of her bed to make it to the nearest washroom toilet before relieving her stomach of its contents. Once. Twice. Three times, before everything settled.

Sick. She was very sick, and she was nearly in tears at the thought. No one had any desire to be around a sick person, and she didn't want to get her Keepers, or Natasha, or anybody else in the house, ill either. Not after watching her brothers fade away...

**~ * ~**

“Captain Rogers?”

Natasha looked up from the morning newspaper – and Steve from his plate of toast, strawberry preserve, eggs, bacon, and coffee – to see Kathleen nervously wringing the edge of her apron. Bucky had, yet again, already left to his office; Augustine and Mrs. Wilkes were cooking breakfast, and Kathleen was meant to be rousing their Little One from sleep.

“Yes, Kathleen?”

“I, I think the Little Missus might be ill,” Kathleen admitted in an informative, but melancholy tone.

Despite Natasha calling his name and telling him to sit back down, Steve immediately shot up from the table, passed by Kathleen without another word, and bounded up the stairs.

“Don't mind the Captain,” Natasha said, noticing how anxious the poor maid looked. “He's just nervous about his Companion. What happened?”

“I, I went to get her up, Missus Romanoff, but her face was flushed and she was coughing in her sleep, and... Well, you can look at a person and tell when they're feeling ill, ma'am.”

Natasha nodded. “I will telephone Clint, and he'll come over to take a look at her. Thank you. Please go assist Augustine or Mrs. Wilkes.”

“Yes, Missus Romanoff.”

**~ * ~**

In his Companion's bedroom, Captain Rogers couldn't help but worry over his Little One. Her face was flushed, and she occasionally coughed so harshly that it wracked her entire body; it was a surprise that she was still asleep, which either attested to her tiredness or the severity of her illness. He didn't want to wake her, but he couldn't stop himself from stroking her hair, or brushing her cheeks with his thumb. He wanted to let her know, _somehow_ , that he was there.

He didn't want her to be sick. They had _just_ found her. He didn't want to lose her...

“I telephoned Clint.” Steve turned at the sound of Natasha's voice from the threshold. “He said he will try to be here within the hour. An hour and a half, at the most. I tried to telephone Bucky as well, but nobody answered.”

“He's still scared of the subway, isn't he?” Steve replied as Natasha took a nearby chair and seated herself beside the bed. “Clint, I mean.”

“You would be too, if it stopped while you were on it.”

Steve let out a snort, before he gently laid his head on his Little One's forehead. “She feels so warm, Nat.”

“It's not chicken pox, and she doesn't look like she has any sort of bumps on her skin,” Natasha said calmly. “Why don't you go into work, and I'll watch over her for you.”

“I know I won't be able to concentrate,” Steve murmured.

“Try,” Natasha firmly replied. “I will stay here. If she wakes, we will see if she can stomach some broth or crackers before Clint arrives. She will be fine.”

**~ * ~**

Dr. Clint Barton arrived at the Barnes-Rogers estate around eleven in the morning, and he barely knocked on the door when Augustine – whom he recognized from a previous, more friendly visit – answered with a nervous expression.

“Dr. Barton,” she said softly with a curtsy, before she allowed him to step in. She immediately lead him to the second floor and into the household's youngest member's bedroom. Natasha was there, holding onto one of the young woman's hands, who was – thankfully – awake. Clint knew from experience that rousing sick Companions from sleep could often be more difficult than administering shots.

He also made a point to try and ignore how lavish this particular bedroom was. He knew Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes well, and the sheer magnitude of this room yelled _Sergeant's_ _Favorite._ If Wanda ever caught eyes of this room, she might turn green with envy.

“Clint,” Natasha purred when her friend stepped through the doorway. “I'm glad to see you.” As he sat down at the edge of the bed, she turned back to the young Companion. “Precious, this is Dr. Barton.”

“Hello,” the little Companion coughed out, and Clint noticed that she appeared only one or two years younger than his own brood.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said, smiling a little to ease her own nerves. He knew his resting face had a tendency to appear severe, particularly with Companions who didn't know him very well. Despite how sarcastic and blunt he often was outside of his practice, he had a fantastic bedside manner with his patients. “Natasha here, and my wife, have told me all about you. I wish I could have met you under better circumstances.”

“Am I contagious?” she asked, worry evident in her tone.

“Precious, Clint has to figure out what you have first,” Natasha said gently as Clint pressed one hand against her forehead, then felt her pulse by gently pressing two fingers under her jaw. He looked in her mouth – no abnormal swelling or anything unusual.

“Have you been feeling cold, sweetheart?” Clint asked kindly. “You can just nod or shake your head if it hurts your throat to speak.”

The Companion nodded her head.

“And your throat is sore?”

Yes.

“Have you been coughing at all?”

Yes.

“Has anything come out, when you cough?”

No.

“Have you felt nauseous?”

No.

“Does anything hurt?”

She nodded, then said, “My head and stomach...”

“Anything else? Vomiting, runny nose...?” He didn't want to mention diarrhea aloud, since he knew that would make the poor thing uncomfortable, but he already had a solid idea of what she probably had.

“I threw up this morning,” she admitted softly, “When it was still dark.”

“Do you know what time that was?”

She shook her head, and Clint nodded.

“Well, it sounds like _you_ ,” he said, giving her shoulder a small squeeze, “have the flu, sweetheart. That's nothing to be too concerned about, but for the next few days, _you_ are to get some rest and sleep as much as possible. No going outside. You eat, you sleep, and you will get better quickly. Do you understand?”

When she nodded, he stroked her hair for a moment, and she asked, “How long will I be sick?”

“The flu usually lasts about a week. You will feel the sickest for three or four days, and a little tired after that, but you'll feel right as rain afterwards.”

It wasn't until they – Clint and Natasha – left the young woman to go back to sleep, when Natasha said, “Steve is going to drown the poor thing with his over-protectiveness.”

Clint shook his head as they headed to the first floor. “That's not a good idea, unless he wants to get sick as well. The flu can be contagious, especially in the beginning. I would restrict her access to others, as much as possible, for now. And anybody who does come into contact with her ought to wash their hands with soap and hot water. No going outside until she is completely better; otherwise, she could risk getting pneumonia.” He'd seen many patients, whether Companions or not, who had passed away from pneumonia.

Natasha nodded. “What should she eat, when she is awake?”

“Bland foods that will ease her stomach: toast, milder fruits, chicken soup or plain broth, crackers, hot tea. Don't try to force her to eat if she feels unable; it shall likely come back up, should you try.”

“I will be sure to let Steve and Bucky know.”

Clint chuckled. “I just hope you can get them to listen.”

“I'm always up for a challenge.”

**~ * ~**

Luckily for Natasha, her precious one slept for a majority of the day, only to wake to use the washroom or nibble on some toast. (She wasn't very hungry for much else.) The maids made sure to scrub their hands thoroughly whenever they entered or exited her bedroom, and Mrs. Wilkes boiled her plates and utensils in hot water. It was a rather quiet afternoon in the mansion, which was vaguely unsettling after the previous month of chattering.

However, the moment she heard the front door open – and Steve thunder up the stairs, Natasha immediately stopped him in his tracks before he could open his Companion's door. She told him the doctor's orders as she forced him back down the stairs to the sitting room.

“The flu?” Steve murmured in shock, his eyes widening and becoming glassy like saucers.

Natasha nodded, then she said firmly, “I am not allowing you or Bucky to go visit her. She needs to rest, and the two of you will be of no help if you get sick as well. I telephoned Bucky's office to let him know, and I left a message.”

Steve's crestfallen expression was unrelenting, but Natasha was equally immovable. He did not get to visit his Little One, who was peacefully asleep.

**~ * ~**

The next few days were incredibly tedious for everyone in the house. Steve continued to work – and worry over his Companion – and he moped about the mansion each day until Natasha would say, “Quit pouting, Steve. You're a Captain.”

“I'm not _pouting_.”

“Then quit _moping_.”

Babydoll remained in her bedroom for a majority of the week. She only left to use the washroom, or lie in a hot bath, since that made her feel slightly better. Augustine and Kathleen would switch out her bed sheets to be cleaned with boiling water, to prevent further sickness, and everyone in the house took impeccable care to make sure the flu didn't spread.

Because of that, Peggy and Angie did not visit that Thursday for dinner, per Steve's request. He didn't want them to be sick, and – more so – their presence would make his sullen mood worse. It would hurt to see a Companion and their Keeper interacting happily together, while knowing he couldn't be with his own little Companion. He knew it wasn't particularly festive to act less-than-hospitable during the holiday season, but he didn't care. He wanted his Little One to feel better.

He also wanted to surprise her with the news of their Christmas plans: Bucky would be taking time off for the holiday starting on the thirteenth, not the seventeenth as originally planned, and the four of them would travel by boat and carriage to their summer home in Westchester. The whole process would take about a day, and the Bartons would be arriving on the sixteenth. He knew his Companion would enjoy it – as they all would – and he was excited to spend his first Christmas with her.

But nobody ought to be ill around the holidays. That just seemed unlawful.

Naturally, it was during this period of time when Madame Potts arrived to check on their Companion. She arrived on the seventh, when Steve and Bucky were both at work, and Natasha calmly showed her around the house – and explained that the Little One was ill. She let Madame Potts to enter the room, where the Companion was fast asleep (and face still flushed with fever), before both women made their way into the living room.

“I wish I hadn't come back at a poor time,” Madame Potts said kindly. “I assure you that normally, when I make visits, they're in good health.”

“It's not your fault,” Natasha said. “When shall you return?”

“I don't wish to intrude upon your holiday festivities, so I shall return towards the end of January.” And both women continued to exchange pleasantries before Madame Potts left to return to the House. Natasha warned both Steve and Bucky of the visit: _“She made no complaints, which was good.”_

Clint returned, at Natasha's prodding, on the tenth, because the little Companion said she was feeling much better (“But I still feel tired.”) He confirmed that she was nearly well again, but warned her against going outside until the tiredness went away.

“The good news is that you may leave this room, and eat foods you can actually taste,” he teased. “And you may have visitors.” He gave her a peck on the head before leaving.

Hours later, after taking a short nap, the young Companion found herself in the attic once again, reading with the cat nearby and a soft blanket over her shoulders. (Kathleen nagged if she took it off. “Pardon me, Missus, but nobody wants yer to get sick 'gain.”) She was in the middle of _The_ _Tempest_ , when she heard the sound of footsteps quickly thundering up the stairs, and before she could become concerned with a potential intruder, Steve burst into the attic, looking quite flustered.

“Steve!” she squealed, immediately abandoning her book in exchange for wrapping her arms around her Keeper's waist. However, that didn't last particularly long, since the Captain swept her up into his arms and twirled her around, pressing many kisses to her cheeks, almost as if she were to disappear if he stopped.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the remedies that Clint listed off for the flu are more modern, but rest and chicken soup were very common for flu symptoms at the time. People were also warned to stay inside if they became ill, because they believed it would turn to pneumonia (which killed many people during this time).


	9. December 14, 1906

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the beginning of a long slew of Christmas chapters! 
> 
> Warning: There is a degree of smut in this chapter, but not a full-fledged scene. (You'll get what I mean when you read it.) I'm not marking it, simply because it's more of an implication than explicitly written for the audience. Sorry, ya'll. ;3

“Little One, I know you are no longer sick,” Steve said in a very soft, but equally firm tone as he held your hands in one of his own. Bucky, standing a few feet away, made sure everyone's trunks were being loaded properly into the carriage and tried to appear as if he couldn't hear what Steve was telling you. “I am glad that you're feeling better. But neither Bucky nor I wish to chance it. So you can take this blanket with you into the carriage and onto the ferry as I have asked, or I will wrap it around you myself after I've spanked you for being obstinate.”

“... I'll take the blanket,” you sighed, taking the thick material as Steve passed it over.

“Good,” he said, before giving your forehead a kiss. “Go sit in the carriage with Nat.” And, to further emphasize the need to obey him, he gently spun you around and firmly popped your rear to urge you into the carriage. (It worked.)

You had felt perfectly fine for the past two days, neither drowsy nor sick in any sort of fashion, but you quickly realized how truthful Natasha had been: Steve's tendency to dote on you was becoming more and more apparent – though you had started to think of it as _mother-henning_. You knew it sprouted from good intentions, but you hadn't been allowed out of the house until this afternoon, and Steve had practically demanded that you bring the blanket with you, even though you felt quite warm in your coat, hat and gloves.

To make matters worse, Bucky refused to take sides. He'd merely said, _“It's better than to be safe than sorry, Babydoll. I'll make sure you can stretch your legs when we go to Westchester.”_

They had told you the good news on the twelfth. Bucky had returned at a decent hour, early enough to have supper with you, Steve, and Natasha, which had been a blessing in itself. Then they explained the four of you would travel early on the fourteenth, taking an hours carriage to the ferry, followed by two hours on boat, then another hours carriage ride to the secondary house in Westchester.

“ _We'll be there from the fourteenth until the fourth, Babydoll,”_ Bucky grinned. You could tell how pleased he was to be around the three of you once again. _“The house is a little smaller than this one, but there's a great lawn near the pond, and the Bartons will be right next door.”_

“ _Are they coming with us?”_ you asked.

Natasha intervened: _“They will, precious, but they're not arriving until the eighteenth.”_

You had nodded, then asked, _“What are Mrs. Wilkes and Kathleen and Augustine doing for Christmas, if we're all going away?”_

Bucky and Steve had chuckled, and Natasha shot them a look.

“ _They're coming with us, Little One,”_ Steve explained gently. _“Peggy agreed to check in on the house on occasion, since she'll be staying here with Angie. They're keeping the cat at their house until we return.”_

“Here, precious,” Natasha said kindly, opening her arm for you to sit beside her in the carriage. She had taken note of the pout on your face; she was certain the reason behind it rhymed with Cleave Odgers. When you cuddled up to her, she helped settle the blanket in your lap (and over her own as well), before wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Is Steve always this _bossy_?” you asked quietly, after making sure the Captain wouldn't overhear you. You were certain he'd disapprove.

Natasha chuckled. “Yes, quite, but only when he's being overprotective.”

“Doting,” you corrected, and you both shared a laugh as Bucky eased himself into the carriage, followed by Steve, who closed the door behind him.

**~ * ~**

You would never, _ever_ admit it aloud, but later that afternoon, you were glad that Steve had forced the blanket onto you. Both of the carriage rides had been fine: the doors and walls of the vehicles had kept the majority of the cold, December air from creeping in, and your coat had shielded you from the rest. The ferry, on the other hand, had been extremely chilly, to the point where Natasha had huddled under the blanket with you, softly telling you stories of childhood escapades with Bucky at the Westchester home. You were certain that both of your Keepers noticed this, if Steve's occasional all-knowing grins meant anything, but he never verbalized his amusement, which you appreciated.

As the four of you grew closer to the house, they carefully explained that – while Mrs. Wilkes, Kathleen, and Augustine were already at the house, getting everything set up for their stay (and prepared for luncheon) – they would be busier than usual, as would the Barton's cook and maid-of-all-work, because of upcoming holiday.

“Where will they all stay?” you inquired, knowing that Steve became antsy when non-family members spent the night under his roof.

“I'll show you, Babydoll,” Bucky – whom you had sat beside during the second carriage ride – said, before pressing a kiss to your head. “You'll get the grand tour.”

Once you arrived on the Westchester estate, _grand_ _tour_ seemed like a fitting title. It was quite large with three floors, perhaps even a hidden fourth, but that made it slightly smaller than your five-floor home in Brooklyn (and, truth be told, you were pleased with that). There was a great wrap-around porch with a long swing; a wrap-around balcony for the second floor; and a plethora of large windows. As promised, there was a pond – which, if you were foolish, could have easily been mistaken for a lake. Next door, there was another house – also three stories, but with one porch and swing; you assumed _that_ house belonged to the Barton family.

Directly across from the pond, however, there was another building: it looked similar to a cottage – one story, with few windows, and a chimney – but it must have had at least five rooms. There was also an outhouse beside it. As the coachman eased several of the trunks off the carriage, and Kathleen and Augustine started taking them into the house, Natasha and Steve both made their way inside, and you stopped Bucky before he could get very far.

“Who lives there?” you asked, pointing to the cottage.

“That's the servant quarters when we stay here, Babydoll,” Bucky said kindly. “It's six rooms, so everyone has a private place to sleep, and a kitchen and indoor plumbing.”

“Why's there an outhouse then?”

“That's in case the plumbing ever stops working. It shouldn't,” Bucky said, playfully crossing his fingers, “but my father was a rather superstitious man. Now, why don't I show you inside while Steve helps the girls get settled.”

The house was by no means less lavish than your normal home, but there was an aura to the house that held a distinctly older quality. It was like stepping back into the old Companion House, except the colors were brighter – and the furniture was more expensive, and you had your family with you. To your surprise – as Bucky took you through the dining and living rooms, the kitchen, and up the staircase, there was no dust. According to Steve, it had been at least a year – perhaps even longer – since anybody had been in the house. Logically, that meant the house ought to be covered in a vernier of dust.

“Is there something wrong, Babydoll?”

“Everything's so clean,” you admitted. “I thought this place would be dusty.”

Bucky chuckled. “Laura Barton has a severe allergy to dust, so any time they come to Westchester, they send their maid ahead for a few days to clean their house. Since we were coming along this year, I asked Ophelia if she could clean ours as well.”

“But don't the Bartons employ her?” After all, you had never heard of a maid to work for two households; they would never have time for themselves.

“Our families tend to live in each others' pockets during the holidays; our maids will go interchangeably from one house to the other often enough. Don't worry: we pay them well for it.”

You certainly hoped so, as Bucky continued to show you around the house. Four bathrooms, each with a tub and running water. Natasha had her own room. Steve and Bucky were, once again, sharing a bedroom, as well as an office space. There wasn't a designated room of your own – your Sergeant looked unhappy at that fact – simply because you hadn't been to the house before, so he said you could pick whichever of the three guest rooms you liked the most, and it would be yours from now on.

The room you decided upon was circular, built inside of a column-like structure attached to the house on the second floor. There was a bed, a vanity, a wardrobe, and a large window-seat. If you peered out the window, there was a lovely view of the pond and the house next door. There wasn't much else to the room itself, but once you had stepped inside, you couldn't help but laugh, because the walls were a horrendous orange color. (Thankfully, Bucky had caught on quickly, and he laughed too, before ushering you back downstairs.)

**~ * ~**

That night, after everyone had gone to bed, you woke up to the sound of thunder. Or, rather, what you believed was thunder. From the window, there was no sort of storm: the moon reflected serenely off the pond and newly fallen snow. You thought that your mind could be playing tricks on you, and you almost fell back asleep when you heard the noise again.

It wasn't thunder: just a very loud thump.

You quietly scrambled out of bed, hunting for your slippers and housecoat. Your mind ran endlessly through several possibilities. What if it was an intruder? It hadn't _sounded_ like an intruder of course, but you had also never heard an intruder previously, so why would your mind assume that it was an intruder instead of something else? You certainly didn't _want_ it to be an intruder, but your curiosity got the better of you as you shuffled out of the safety of your bedroom and into the hallway -

_Intruder_ , your brain screamed when you heard the sound again. You had no weapons, your family was in the middle of Westchester, nearly a fifteen minute carriage ride away from the nearest town, and there was an intruder in the house. Then you realized the noise wasn't only a thump: it was a thud, followed by a creaking and some groaning. Like some type of ghost had bumped into a rickety table.

Alright, perhaps that wasn't some kind of intruder. Knowing how old the house was, it was possible the creaking and groaning was merely some kind of wind grinding the floor boards together, or gently pushing the house. The tenement apartment you once resided in with your parents had a vast array of noises in the middle of the night – most of which were harmless. (The mice scratching in-between walls hadn't been.)

Still, you were now awake – and rather nervous – and you didn't particularly wish to be alone at the moment. It took you a moment to remember which of the bedrooms belonged to your Keepers, and when you found it, you were a little surprised to see the door cracked open by a hair.

You were also surprised to hear the strange noises coming from their bedroom. However, the noise was no longer surprising once you peeked your eye into their room – without touching the door – and you felt your face become rather hot.

The loud thudding was the wooden bed, occasionally scraping itself against the wall it was pressed against. The creaking was the pressure of the bed's movement against the floor. The groaning and moaning – and, now that you were closer, mewling and grunting – came from your Keepers in turn, who were by _no_ means asleep, or wearing their pajamas. Indeed, by the way Steve was biting his pillow and holding on with white-knuckled fingers, and Bucky over him, nearly biting his lip, it was obvious that both men were trying their best to keep silent.

Not wishing to disturb them (or potentially get caught), you scurried off to the third floor, where Natasha's bedroom was. You quietly tapped on her door with your knuckles; when that garnered no response after thirty seconds or so, you tried again. Before you considered knocking a third time, the door creaked open, and there stood Natasha, her red hair down and wearing only her pajamas and housecoat.

It hadn't struck you until that moment, that you'd never seen her without her hair pinned up, or her finery on. The Natasha before you was as strong and regal as ever, but there was a softness to her that you liked. Before she could say anything, you admitted softly, “I, I'm sorry for waking you but, I heard some noises... and I couldn't go back to sleep... I didn't want to be alone...”

Natasha smiled, just slightly, before easing you inside her bedroom. You had never been inside Natasha's bedroom at the house, so you held no frame of reference to its appearance when compared to this room – which, like your own, was more plain. A large bed, vanity, wardrobe, fireplace, and window-seat were the lumps you could recognize, and you didn't concern yourself with much else as Natasha set both of your housecoats on a nearby chair and set your slippers beside her own, under the bed.

“You can always come to me if you feel scared or nervous, precious,” Natasha soothed as the two of you shuffled into the bed and under the covers. She wrapped one arm around you, cuddling you close with your head near her shoulder. “What was the noise that you heard?”

“I...” Your mind was going as quickly as a train: you struggled to think of something to say that wasn't vulgar or potentially insensitive, since Natasha had been a family to your Keepers far longer than you had, and you eventually settled with, “I, I heard creaking and a thumping noise, and... I was curious. I went to go see what it was. It, it came from Bucky's and Steve's room.”

Natasha's expression was full of understanding. Clearly, she knew such things were an occurrence in the house. You had the knowledge that _something_ might be going on, but there was a large different between a gut feeling – and seeing it before your very eyes. Especially since both of your Keepers had looked rather dashing in no attire: Steve, sweating, lying on his stomach on the bed, his back arched, leaning into the Sergeant's gentle thrusting under the thin sheet they had set up to shield themselves –

“Did that offend you, precious?” Natasha's voice called you away from your rather naughty thoughts.

“Huh?”

“What you found, in Bucky's and Steve's room. Did it offend you?”

You immediately shook your head. Truthfully, you hadn't been offended in the slightest by their actions. You were quite happy to know that your Keepers loved each other this much. However, seeing it unfold had worried you; not for any sort of social implication, but... If you were meant to be their Companion, and they loved each other enough to become physically intimate, did that mean they would eventually wish to be physicality intimate with you? Or – and this thought broke your heart – did they have no desire to love you in such a way? If you were meant to be their Companion, but not a lover, would you ever be allowed to be loved that way? You didn't have the answers, and you were afraid to ask.

“No, not at all. I love Bucky and Steve.”

Natasha kissed your head and cuddled you slightly closer, almost like one would hold a teddy bear. Your mind began to settle down when you realized how utterly soft Natasha felt, and how warm her arms felt around your torso. “And they love you too.”

“... Not like that, though,” you murmured, and part of you wished Natasha would not hear your remark.

“Would you like for them to?”

You were a little surprised that Natasha neither confirmed, nor denied your words, but you merely shrugged. “I, I...”

“Are you unsure?”

“... Would I be allowed to love someone that way, ever, if they did not want me that way?”

Instead of answering, Natasha merely kissed your head again and said, “That, I cannot answer. Let's think of something happier for now, precious. How you and I will be making Christmas sweets tomorrow, perhaps? Or wrapping presents for your Keepers. Decorating this old place to look like the inside of a Christmas tree.” And Natasha's fingers suddenly found your sides and pressed until you tried to squirm away – and attempt to suppress your giggling.

“Don't worry about anything now, alright? I promise this will be your best Christmas you've ever had.”

 


	10. December 18, 1906

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize: this chapter is a little shorter than I anticipated, but the next one will be longer, I promise! (It'll be the night before Christmas! <3)

Natasha made good on her promise to the little Companion over the course of the following days. They – along with the assistance of Mrs. Wilkes – spent the entirety of the fifteenth in the kitchen making all sort of Christmas goodies. Sugar cookies that resembled snowmen and snowflakes. Thin sheets of peanut brittle and thick slabs of fudge. A large gingerbread house, covered in frosting and chocolate chips, with a licorice drawbridge and a moat of melted chocolate. Gingerbread men and women. Chocolate chip cookies (which, according to Natasha, were Steve's favorite). Lemon tarts. Strawberry and chocolate pudding. Mrs. Wilkes even showed you the plum pudding – made two weeks ago – which would be given to everyone during the Christmas feast.

“I hid a quarter in it,” Mrs. Wilkes teased with a wink, “The person who finds it, gets to keep it!”

At the Companion House, it had been a nickel, so the idea of gaining a quarter simply by eating plum pudding was exciting to you. (When you explained that to Natasha later, she laughed and said, “We used to put a dime in, until Steve swallowed it on accident!”)

Mrs. Wilkes had also prattled off the list of foods that would be served for Christmas to both you and Natasha, but the sheer amount of dishes had gotten so large, you couldn't remember everything that she'd said. But it had made sense: between both families, there were eight people, and the staff would be an additional five. It would take quite a large amount of food for a Christmas feast for thirteen people.

The next day, Natasha and the Little One rose early to travel into the nearest town and spent a good portion of the morning and afternoon away from the Westchester estate. While in Brooklyn, one didn't have to travel very far to find stores or street vendors to purchase goods from; in Westchester, during the middle of the winter, it required taking the carriage and a fifteen minute ride to discover an array of shops and vendors, all incredibly willing to sell anything in preparation for the holiday.

Both women purposefully avoided going near the post office: the line to go inside was nearly a block long, full of people who had waited until the last moment to send Christmas cards. The baker also looked quite flustered, as did the candy shop. With all of the hustle and bustle in the town, which was much smaller than Brooklyn but seemingly as crowded, neither woman left the other's sight, in fear of getting lost. Having visited this town multiple times in her childhood, Natasha remembered most – if not all – of the shops, and the younger Companion was pleased to look around with her.

“Have you made anything for Steve and Bucky for Christmas?” Natasha asked around noon, after they had stretched their legs and made rounds, looking about at which shops were open and selling goods – and what types of goods.

“I have,” Babydoll said, clutching Natasha's hand in one of her own, and her change jar with her other, before she admitted, “But I'm not sure if I have enough money to get it for them. And I'm not sure what to get the Bartons.”

“Don't worry about the Barton family, precious. We can give them their presents together,” Natasha soothed, before added, “What were you thinking of getting your Keepers?”

She told Natasha, who let her know it was a good idea, and not to worry about money. (Natasha knew that the boys were planning on giving their Companion some sort of an allowance starting after the New Year, but she wasn't going to spoil the surprise.) “I'll assist you with whatever you need. Alright?”

“But how will I pay you back?”

“By _not_ asking how you can pay me back.”

Meanwhile, Steve and Bucky had taken good use of the lack of female presence at the house – Kathleen, Augustine, and Mrs. Wilkes notwithstanding – to romp in their bedroom and in the shared office space. After all, there was a vast amount of noises which the working women of the house had learned to ignore over the years. Masculine whimpers, moans of “ _Buuuucky_ ” or “ _Stevie_ ”, soft huffs and the obvious sounds of intercourse – along with the occasional crack of furniture or glass breaking. As embarrassing as it would be for their Little One to find out about their escapades, or Natasha, neither man was concerned about the other girls.

Truth be told, the working girls – and Mrs. Wilkes – were all pleased to know their employers go along so well, though they would never mention it aloud. If anybody outside of the house ever question them about it, they could feign innocence. That, and any fool would realize that a Christmas box of eight dollars (or ten, in Mrs. Wilkes' case) and a yearly wage of $175 (or $325 for Mrs. Wilkes) would be a good enough reason to keep quiet over the occasional act of sodomy.

By the time the two women returned to the house, Steve's and Bucky's little Companion brushed past her Keepers without so much as a hello, to bolt upstairs with several packages and a nearly empty change jar.

“She's hiding presents,” Natasha explained at Steve's and Bucky's equally surprised expressions. “Did you two enjoy yourselves? Alone?”

Steve's blush, and Bucky's smug grin, said far more than necessary, but Bucky's collected reply of, “Immensely,” still made Natasha roll her eyes.

**~ * ~**

On the seventeenth, Bucky, Steve, and Natasha went into town together, and they asked that Babydoll stay at the Westchester estate. “We would love for you to come with us,” Steve assured her, not wanting his Little One to think that he didn't want her around. “But it would be more difficult to find a present for you, when you're standing right beside us.”

(That was somewhat of a lie: Steve, Natasha, and Bucky already had their presents chosen for the little Companion – along with each other, and most of the Barton family. Ordering such presents hadn't been a particularly difficult task, but retrieving them and keeping it a secret was more so. Especially since they had to travel to more than one town to gather it all.)

At the Westchester estate, around eleven or so, several men in carriages had arrived with boxes upon boxes of decorations. At first, Babydoll was confused, until Augustine explained that Steve and Bucky did this every year. In Brooklyn, they would order greenery from shops and have them delivered to the house, while decorations for the tree were stored in a spare room. Since they were closer to the woods on the Westchester estate, they'd hired a local service to brought in greenery. Apparently, everything for the tree had been left at the house - “and that just means we shall make them ourselves, _ma_ _petite_. Missus Maximoff shall help us too, I know.”

“Do my Keepers not cut down their own tree?”

“No, the Captain cuts down the tree each year, when we are here. I think Doctor Barton does as well, with his son. Maybe they will take you with them, _ma_ _petite_.”

While the young Companion worked on long, colorful paper chains, and collected streams of thick ribbon and tinsel from a large box in the attic, the men – four of them, each in their thirties or so, with wedding rings on – helped Kathleen and Augustine arrange the various greenery around the house. Holly and streams of berried evergreen were wrapped around stair banisters, door frames, and the occasional table. Clusters of mistletoe were placed under many of the doors as well. Each clump had at least four berries, to Babydoll's surprise; at the Companion House, Madame Potts refused to have any mistletoe with berries.

Kathleen provided an excellent explanation: “Mistletoe with berries mean that someone can get kisses. One kiss for each berry. No more berries, no more kisses. Sergeant Barnes requests lots of berries each year.”

It was _exceptionally_ difficult for the Little One to keep a straight face at that, but somehow, she managed. The men eventually left, after receiving their payment from Mrs. Wilkes (who had been given the money in an envelope by Bucky). It was nearing supper when the trio returned, with their own assortment of packages – which, like their Companion, they snuck upstairs as quickly as possible.

**~ * ~**

On the morning of the eighteenth, as the youngest member of the house began to dress for the day, a carriage arrived at the house next door. It wasn't the Barton family, since only one woman – with two bags – exited the carriage, before it swiftly drove off, but the incident was rather peculiar.

That is, until Babydoll bought it up at breakfast.

“Oh, that's Mrs. Brewer,” Natasha said. “She's their cook. Clint said they would be here around luncheon. They will probably want to get settled first, and they will be joining us for supper.”

Steve left to go into town with Natasha, which gave the Sergeant something to pout over, even though they planned on returning shortly after luncheon. Bucky quickly settled on wrapping presents in secret and keeping them stored away in his office, though he occasionally found his mind wandering at the sight of his Companion from his window – bundled up, making a large snowman in front of the house. However, over time, he noticed the Barton family arrive in their carriage: Clint and Pietro hopping out to immediately assist the footman with their luggage and hauling it into the house. Laura Barton shuffling inside to get out of the cold, despite how bundled up she was. The carriage taking off after Wanda stepped out, before the youngest member of the Barton family made a bee-line over to his own Companion.

**~ * ~**

Babydoll had been wrapped up in her own world with the snowman, determination pouring out from her as she made each part of its body, rolling it from small snow balls until she eventually had to lift the torso onto the base. She had _finally_ put the head onto the torso – after some struggling, but still by herself – yet, it felt like it needed something...

“What shall you do for its face?”

The Companion let out a shriek at the unknown voice – female, with a heavy European accent – and instinctively pushed the snowman's head off his shoulders and onto the ground, where it splattered. She almost sighed, but the voice behind her spoke instead:

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry for frightening you! I thought you had heard me!”

Babydoll turned around at that to see a young woman about her age, with long brown hair and large eyes, looking rather horrified at the sight before her. “That's alright. I'm not worried about it. I can put the head back together.”

“Let me help you!”

It wasn't nearly as difficult for two girls to get the head back onto the snowman, and Wanda offered to get coal from the kitchens to give him a face, as an apology for spooking her. Instead, Babydoll had urged her into the kitchens, and both girls were soon set up on the porch with a pitcher of hot chocolate to share, two mugs, and a plate of sugar cookies.

“I don't think he needs a face after all. I like him without it, I think... Your name is Wanda, right?”

“Yes,” Wanda said with a grin. “Aunt Natasha has told us many stories about you. I am glad to meet you finally.”

“I like your accent,” she admitted softly, and Wanda giggled.

“Thank you. My brother and I are from Russia; we were not adopted by the Bartons until we were fourteen.”

“What house were you from?”

“It was called Sokovia, but... that does not have a translation into English. It is meant to be, like, a small village, but also home? I'm not sure how to explain it. What house were you from?”

“The Howard Stark Companion Home for Young Ladies,” Babydoll rattled off, and she giggled when Wanda's eyes widened. “There used to be two Houses in Brooklyn, but one burned down, but before then, Mr. Stark liked being able to see his name on his own building.”

“Such an ego trip.”

Babydoll nodded, and both girls sipped their cocoa before Wanda tacked on,

“Have you thought about what to get your Keepers for Christmas? I only ask because I remember struggling to think of something to get Mama and Papa...”

“I already have Bucky's present,” the younger Companion said, “It's hiding under my bed currently, upstairs, but... I thought about getting Steve a chain for his watch, then I realized he already had a chain – and no man has two chains for a single watch. That's just silly... I might go buy him a scarf, since Bucky _always_ says that Steve forgets his on purpose –”

“You are _not_ going to buy the Captain a scarf, _kukla_ ,” Wanda said firmly, “I will show you how to make one. It's easy, and I'm making one for my Mama for Christmas too. I have more than enough yarn.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course!”

“Oh, thank you, Wanda, that would be lovely... What does that mean? Coo-clah?”

“ _Kukla_ ,” Wanda said. “It means doll in Russian. I hope that doesn't offend you. Papa told Pietro and I that you do not like your name, so I thought you would not mind the nickname. I could call you something else, if you would prefer.”

“Oh, I don't mind at all!” the younger Companion replied with a grin. “Bucky calls me Babydoll, so that makes sense.”

“Sister, stop playing with the _printsessa_ _otrod'ye_ and come inside for luncheon!” a voice from the next door house called. Both girls looked over to see a tall man with silvery hair standing with crossed arms, glaring in their general direction, before he spun back inside.

When she noticed her new friend's concerned expression, Wanda said, “That's Pietro, my twin. Pay him no mind.”

“What did he say?”

“Huh?”

“What, what did he say? In Russian?”

Wanda waved her hand. “Do not worry about it. He is just cranky. If Papa heard him, he will be cross, and Pietro will not say it again.”

That didn't really help Babydoll's spirits, but Wanda seemed rather nice, and she was determined to keep the friendship. “Okay. Natasha said you'll be joining us for supper.”

Wanda nodded, before finishing off her cocoa. “I probably ought to go now. Before my brother yells again.” She rolled her eyes. “He is a jealous person. Do not worry over him, please.” And she gave Bucky's and Steve's Companion another hug before making her way back towards her own family's house.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is curious, the average wage for a maid like Kathleen or Augustine during 1906 would be about $122 for a whole year (or $3,084 in 2016). For a cook, the price is $291 (or $7,357 in 2016). People of the working class made such little money, it was nearly impossible to change social classes; in most cases, it was barely enough to live on. For the working women, their wages of $175 (or $4,425 in 2016) and $325 ($8,216) would be unthinkable. 
> 
> A “Christmas box” is the employer's gift to the staff at the end of the year for the holidays. Sometimes, it was only money; others gave food and clothes and other necessities. 
> 
> The 73 cents that Babydoll had saved up in her change jar is equal to about $18.50 in 2016 American money. Would that be enough to buy 7 people Christmas gifts? ;) During this time, many people made gifts for their loved ones, and they were thought of months in advance; others – especially those with wealth – were able to purchase gifts. You shall see a vast array of Christmas presents in the 12/25 chapter! 
> 
> Also, I used Google translate for the Russian in this chapter, so if anybody knows Russian (and notices that it's wrong), let me know and I will change it. Kukla means doll, and printsessa otrod'ye means princess brat.


	11. December 24, 1906

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas / Hanukkah / Ramadan / Kwanzaa to my readers who celebrate the holidays this time of year. There will be a Christmas day chapter, but it will pop up (fingers crossed) on or around New Years Day. 
> 
> This chapter is written in second POV.

Wanda Maximoff proved to be a valuable and loyal friend over the next several days. She was as sharp as a tack and loved to laugh. She was a patient teacher and helped you correct any mistakes you made with Steve's gift before they became too problematic. She had snuck you into the Barton's house without anyone noticing on the nineteenth and twentieth; nothing interrupted the two of you working diligently on presents, save for the luring scents of hot chocolate and food.

“I like making presents for people,” Wanda explained, when she showed you the gifts she'd made for Natasha and her mother. “It makes it more personal.” Then she noticed your face drop somewhat, since you had wanted to do the same for your little family unit, and she tacked on, “But I also had _time_ to make these things, even in my first year of being with my family. Pietro and I were adopted in March. I'm sure you will have time to make gifts for your Keepers next year.”

You certainly would have time next year, and you were already making mental notes to start preparing as soon as possible. You finished the scarf early in the morning on the 23rd, which you were quite proud about, even if it was only one color; the one Wanda was making for her mother had multiple colors and Laura's initials at the bottom. Wanda was also all-too-happy to help you wrap your presents for your Keepers and Natasha, since you were willing to do the same for her, towards her own family. It had been rather fun to put a present in actual wrapping paper though, instead of old newspapers, as you'd done with your family prior to the Companion House.

“Why is Pietro so grouchy?” you had asked one afternoon, while you wrapped her present that was meant for her brother. He'd poked his head into Wanda's bedroom, and you'd thrown her blanket over the present while she shooed him out. Pietro had rolled his eyes and snapped something in Russian, which Wanda had translated as a rough command for the younger Companion to _run back to her own house with her own Keepers_. “I don't recall offending him.”

After all, when the Bartons had come over for supper their first night, Pietro hadn't gone out of his way to be friendly towards you, but he hadn't ignored you outright. He'd been civil, and he'd engaged in whatever conversation flowed over dinner. You had chalked it up to shyness, not rudeness.

Wanda rolled her eyes in an extremely unladylike fashion. “My brother,” she sighed, “is very... _vain_ is not the right word, but... he likes knowing that he and I are the 'babies' in the family, if that makes sense? Even though he will _never_ admit it. It makes us the center of attention. He also does not handle change very well. In his mind, you being with our extended family makes his life less stable – which is untrue. Do not worry about him; he shall get over it eventually and warm up to you when he pulls his head out of the sand.”

“He's jealous?”

“ _Jealous_! That is the word, thank you. He is very jealous.”

You had accepted that answer, even though it made no sense to you; it was obvious to you that the Clint and Laura Barton loved both of their Companions – their _children_ – and nothing could or would change that.

Thankfully, like Wanda, Clint and Laura were very warm and inviting. They even requested that you call them Uncle Clint and Aunt Laura instead of Dr. and Mrs. Barton. You'd been a little confused by that initially, until Laura explained, “We're all family, sweetheart. The twins call your Keepers their uncles, and Natasha their aunt; we don't want you to feel left out.”

(That was very true. Wanda constantly referred to your Keepers as “Uncle Steve” and “Uncle James”, and Natasha as “Auntie Nat,” and you caught Pietro saying it once or twice.)

Despite that, you didn't see them very often, simply because you were busy with Christmas preparations, and you knew they were as well. You hoped to see them more, once the twenty-fifth passed.

**~ * ~**

Natasha, Bucky, and Steve continued to make multiple trips into town – sometimes, by themselves; other times, together. Clint and Laura, or the twins, would often join them. You knew whatever they purchased, they had hidden somewhere in the Westchester house – or perhaps even with the Bartons – or given to Augustine or Kathleen, or even Ophelia, to wrap and hide until the 24th. Madame Potts had always told you that setting up a Christmas tree before Christmas Eve was tacky, and your Keepers seemed to agree, and presents couldn't be placed underneath it until then.

You joined Steve on the afternoon of the 23rd, after finishing the scarf and carefully wrapping it (then giving it to Kathleen to hide). The town was swamped with people weaving in and out of stores, searching for last-minute items and gifts; Steve calmly explained, as you both stepped out of the carriage, that he didn't want you to let go of his hand unless you were in a store together – and not to leave without his permission, because he didn't want you to get lost. He guided you into a store, and you browsed as he picked up an order. Watches, necklaces, various ornaments – and your eyes fell upon something you knew Natasha would love. Then you saw the small price tag and wanted to cry: eight dollars. You had nowhere near that amount in your skirt pocket.

“What caught your eye, Little One?” Steve teased, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and kissing your head. In his other hand was a small package, perfectly wrapped. “Do I need to return what I got you?”

You shook your head and admitted softly, “I think I found what to get Natasha, but it's too much...”

It took only a second for Steve to see where your eyes had wandered, before a smile split upon his face. “Ohhh, I see. You have excellent taste. I know Natasha would love it. How much do you still have in that jar of yours?”

You'd left the jar back at the Westchester house, since bringing it had been silly. “Sixteen cents.”

Steve looked like he was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “You're certainly in a pickle then, aren't you?” Then he gave your head another kiss and said, “Why don't you hop on over to the little candy store a block over and use a few pennies to buy us some peppermint sticks, and I'll pay for this for you. How does that sound?”

“Eight dollars doesn't equal a couple of pennies, Steve. Nobody's _that_ dumb.”

The Captain couldn't help but chuckle at that. “Yes, I know, Little One, but Bucky isn't the only one who can spoil you during the holidays.”

“But it's not for me: it's for Natasha.”

Steve didn't commented on your sass. Instead, he gave you explicit directions to the sweet shop – not minding that you and Natasha had been there before, several days prior – before sending you on his errand with a sharp pop on the rear. You obeyed with a pout. As you weaved in and out of the ocean of people, you were almost to the store when something caught your eye in the tailor's window beside the sweet shop. You went into the tailor's store without a second thought, and the man behind the counter – older, balding, but with a kind face – waved as you entered.

“Hello, dearie,” he said, before the smile on his face stretched further as you brought over the object. “That catch yer fancy?”

“Yes, sir. How much is it?”

“Seven cents,” he said, then he added, “But ye've got such a sweet face, I'll take it fer five.”

You happily handed over the nickel, and he wrapped the gift in a tiny box for you. You thanked him again and trotted next door to the sweet shop, and your brain nearly stopped under the influence of being around so much candy. It took you several moments to remember why you'd been sent over, before you made a bee-line to the peppermint sticks.

Once you had your paper bag of eleven peppermint sticks, you were heading to the door when you noticed Steve standing outside near the window, obviously waiting for you to come out. He had two tiny wrapped boxes in his hand as well, and he noticed your packages with a grin.

“What else did you get, Little One?”

“It's for Wanda,” you said, and he passed one of the presents over to you, in exchange for three peppermint sticks.

**~ * ~**

On the morning of the twenty-fourth, you woke up to the sound of loud grunting and movement coming from downstairs. It was almost as if a bear had made its way into the house, and you barely managed to put on your housecoat and slippers before scampering down the stairs.

Luckily, it was not a bear, but your Keepers – and Dr. Barton and Pietro – dragging an obscenely large tree into the house, in the direction of the sitting room. Pine needles were scattered across the entryway floor, and you felt bad for whomever would end up sweeping the floor. The four men were doing a fair job of wrangling the massive beast into the correct spot, so you ran back to the safety of your room to prepare for the day. You knew it would be a long one.

The tree was up and in place – despite some ungentlemanly language from everyone in the group but Pietro, and their refusal to allow any of the women to help – by luncheon. Even when huddled into one of the sitting room's corners, it was very wide and nearly reached the high ceiling. Laura Barton, after catching you simply staring at the magnificent beast of a tree, had to gently usher you into the dining room for luncheon with the promise that decorating the tree would occur after everyone ate.

Luncheon was a simple affair, and you quickly learned that the Bartons were not setting up a tree in their little house, because they would be celebrating with Natasha, your Keepers, and you. Along with sharing your Christmas meal at your house, everyone's presents and stockings would be in one place, instead of scattered over two houses.

“It will be easier for Father Christmas that way,” Bucky teased with a wink. “He'll only need to make one stop instead of two.”

You made no comments about Bucky's teasing, but you made sure to smile at him. You'd stopped believing in Father Christmas when you entered the Companion House; most of the girls in the Howard Stark House had stopped believing too, unless they were under the age of ten, even though 'Father Christmas' would still leave a birch rod in the stocking of any young lady who'd been especially naughty one year. (That had happened to you once.)

Still, you didn't want to ruin Bucky's fun – or the spirit of Christmas. After everyone ate, your Keepers went upstairs for a nap (Steve looked especially exhausted), and Pietro and Clint returned to their house to do the same. (You caught Clint sneaking a kiss from his wife under the mistletoe and removing one of the berries before he left.) With the men out of the way, you and the other women in the family set forth with decorating the tree. According to Wanda, and Natasha, it was tradition, since Dr. Barton didn't want his wife or daughter potentially catching cold while assisting with the tree – and Bucky didn't trust Natasha with an ax.

“I can't imagine why,” Natasha said with a wink, and you laughed.

You and Wanda worked on arranging the long strings of paper chains you two had created onto the tree. Natasha, with arms full of red and silver ribbon, aided you two while also wrapping streams of ribbon on neglected parts of the tree. Laura placed small white candles around the tree, which you knew would be lit later that evening or tomorrow morning. (You'd heard far too many stories of people accidentally burning down their houses for leaving their candles blazing.) Both older women also attached silver tinsel and silver bulbs around the tree as well, and you couldn't help but watch with a grin on your face. 

“We used to put strings of popcorn on the tree at the Companion House,” you told Wanda.

“We did too in Russia,” Wanda said, “and we used to at home... but I can't remember why we stopped.”

“I caught Bucky eating it,” Natasha said, “when it was still on the tree.”

Laura added with a slight shake of her head, “Clint did that too,” and you and Wanda both collapsed into giggles.

**~ * ~**

If it weren't sacrilegious to have such thoughts inside of a chapel, you would think about killing yourself to get out of the service. Admittedly, you were glad that your Keepers and Natasha – and the Bartons – had brought you to the sunset service on Christmas Eve, instead of the sunrise service on Christmas Day.

But that didn't change the fact that Dr. Barton – for the life of him – could not sing on key, and he was sitting directly behind you in the chapel. It was such a small thing to be grumpy about, in the grand scheme of things, but his rickety bass tone was attempting to sing tenor, and you were almost twitching to keep from saying anything. Thankfully, Steve and Bucky were sitting both of your sides; between them, you could drown out Dr. Barton's warbling.

(Laura Barton, on the other hand, sang soprano as clearly and beautifully a trained singer in an opera. You made a note to ask her about that later.)

The service itself was not bad. You had sat through Christmas services that had lasted three, four, five hours with no reprieve – and Steve told you that this would last two hours, at maximum. The preacher (it wasn't a Catholic service) spoke about the birth of Christ – and instilling the values of giving, instead of receiving, in children. He had a large, booming voice and a tendency to yell; whenever he became especially loud, Steve would take your hand and rub your knuckles, even though you weren't frightened. The choir was small, but they could all sing on beat and with the correct pitched – and they had a good selection of carols following the sermon. _God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen_. _Once in Royal David's City_. _As With Gladness Men of Old. The Child Jesus in the Garden. Sleep, Holy Babe._

Once the service let out, the Bartons managed to escape out of the church with relative ease. For your Keepers and Natasha (and you, by extension), this was not the case. Many of the families, couples, and elderly women who had attended the service recognized Natasha or Bucky – and Steve, on the rare occasion, and it would have been rude to disappear suddenly when so many people wanted to greet your Keepers. According to them, it'd been at least three years since they had visited Westchester for Christmas, and they all wanted to catch up and chat. How are you doing? Everything been going well with your business? Natasha, I thought your artwork would've been in museums by now! Have you found a husband yet? James Barnes, you young rascal, why haven't you wed yet? Oh! You found a Companion! Well, where is she?

Around that point, Bucky would gently usher you forward and introduce you to whomever he was speaking with. Most of their names immediately went one ear and out the other, but you always made sure to say hello and how do you do. Some of the elderly women found you precious, while others scolded Bucky for not immediately marrying you (which made you blush and look down at the floor). You didn't want tell anybody Bucky's secret with Steve, and you knew keeping quiet was the best option.

Eventually, after nearly an hour, the four of you were able to leave, with you cuddled under Bucky's arm. He'd noticed you struggling not to yawn, and he's jumped on that as an excuse to leave. After all, it would be improper for a Keeper to not take care of his obviously sleepy Companion, right? (It was, and they all understood.) And, truth be told, once you got into the carriage, you couldn't hear Steve's teasing about not going to sneak a peek at presents under the tree before tomorrow – because you had already fallen asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not allow the twins to call Bucky "Uncle Bucky" or "Uncle Buck" in good conscience. It made me laugh too much, so Uncle James it is.
> 
> Also, I recognize that many religions beyond Christianity were around during the Edwardian age, but for an upper-class white, Christian household such as the Rogers-Barnes-Romanoff family, Christmas is what would be celebrated, so that's what I focused on for this set of chapters.


	12. December 25, 1906

You woke abruptly to the sound of knocking – quick, sharp taps that were annoying and you wanted them to stop immediately. You still felt rather tired, even though you'd slept well. You couldn't even remember falling asleep: that's how deep your sleep had been.

Stumbling out of bed and rubbing your hands against your eyes, you wrapped yourself up in your housecoat and opened your bedroom door. There was Wanda, standing in the doorway with a smile, bright-eyed and fully clothed. Her jaw dropped when she saw you.

“How aren't you dressed yet?” she cried. “It's Christmas!”

“I was asleep,” you yawned.

“Here, I'll help you!” Wanda said, pushing herself into your room and, like a whirl-wind, started helping you out of your night clothes. For the most part, it was simply urging you to wake up to put something on – and assisting you with lacing your corset and dress. She also chattered your ear off: “Pietro is already fussing downstairs, even though Papa told him to behave, but so is Uncle James, so Uncle Steve asked if I would come get you. We haven't opened anything yet – not even our stockings. It's tradition that we wait for everyone –”

“I don't have a stocking,” you yawned again. You had made one at the Companion House when you were fifteen, and you'd given it to Samantha before leaving.

“Yes, you do,” Wanda said, trying to brush your hair into some resemblance of order. “There's a pink and red one downstairs with your name on it. I think Auntie Nat made it.”

It was far too early to argue with Wanda – or to even thinking about arguing with her at all, so you let it go. Instead, she ushered you out of the bedroom, and you followed her down the stairs and into the sitting room, passing by the grandfather clock that projected 9:47.

Almost immediately, the air in your lungs evaporated. The candles on the tree were lit, basking the tree – and the entire room – in a warm glow. Hidden in-between the branches of the tree and the ornaments were gingerbread people, sticks of peppermint, and small wrapped candies. There was an enormous stack of presents underneath the tree, one which rivaled what you'd seen at the Companion House – where each girl had received one present, and some trinkets or candy in her stocking.

On one of the tables, there was a large tea set with steaming mugs of cider, hot cocoa and marshmallows, and a plate of sugar cookies. There were multiple stockings hung over the fireplace, all hand-made and filled. Everyone was scattered around the room, and Wanda shuffled over to her brother, who was sipping cocoa while being cuddled by his mother.

“There you are, precious,” Natasha teased from her spot on the sofa. “I thought Reverend Miller's sermon might make you sleep until the New Year.”

From the corner of your eye, Steve gestured for you to come over, and he plopped you into his lap for a cuddle, despite sitting in a chair meant for one. “Merry Christmas, Little One,” he murmured with a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Merry Christmas,” you said, laying your head against his shoulder.

“Don't fall asleep on us now, Babydoll,” Bucky teased. “You won't know what Father Christmas brought you.”

“Father Christmas came?”

“Mm-hmm,” the Sergeant purred. “You and the twins were good this year, and he left goodies in your stockings for all of you.”

“Does that mean we can open them now?” Wanda asked eagerly.

“Only if you bring me mine,” Clint said. “I don't want to get up.”

Pietro and Wanda practically flew over to the fireplace and started easing the stockings down from where they hung, before handing each one to their respective person. (Clint got his first.) Pietro handed you a pink and red stocking, covered in shiny buttons and red lace and, as promised, your name written across the top in a flowing white script. It was beautifully made, very soft, and much prettier than the plaid one you'd fashioned at the Companion House.

“Thank you, Natasha,” you said, after getting off of Steve's lap to give her a hug. She gave you one back with a smile, despite Steve's exaggerated pouting.

“You're welcome, precious. I didn't want to put a nickname on it, and give the boys something else to bicker about.” After all, putting two nicknames on one stocking would've been silly, and that made sense to you.

Everyone started to open their stockings then, bringing forth an array of small trinkets. Small bags of peanuts and pecans, tied with ribbon. Slates of peanut brittle. Slabs of fudge in wax paper. Clementines. Pietro, Wanda, and you – which, you realized after a while, were the 'kids' of the group – found five pennies each. Wanda found a frosted gingerbread girl that looked just like her. Pietro had several licorice sticks.

You discovered a shiny penny whistle, which let out an obnoxiously shrill noise when you tested it out. Clint was struggling to hide his sadistic mirth. Bucky and Steve looked horrified.

“I didn't realize Father Christmas brought you that,” Bucky said, his voice in a much higher register than normal.

(“ _Father_ _Christmas_ has gotten Pietro and Wanda whistles in their stockings each year until Laura surprised them with a puppy on their twentieth birthday,” Natasha would whisper in your ear later that afternoon. “Clint's been wanting to do that since 1888.”)

Steve and Pietro assisted in getting the candy ornaments off of the tree and onto plates on the table, so they could be shared. One of Pietro's gifts was also hidden among the branches, and he was urged to open it first: a pocket knife from his father, with his initials engraved in it.

**~ * ~**

After nearly two hours of sorting through and opening presents, munching on the small goodies left in the tree or stocking, and sipping hot cocoa, everything was opened. There were many hugs, kisses, thank-yous, and some tears through-out the entire thing, along with a couple of squeals of surprise and expressions of awe. You had never experienced something this momentous at the Companion House, simply because a stocking of trinkets could not equate to a mountain of presents shared among family.

You had started to recognize more things about your family – both your Keepers and Natasha, as well as your extended family with the Bartons – as time went on. Whenever one of them wasn't opening presents, Steve or Bucky would want you cuddled in their lap or sitting beside them. (Bucky practically devoured the goodies in his stocking, while Steve ate them at a much steadier pace.) Natasha, when she wasn't sipping cocoa or sucking on the peppermint sticks, conversed quietly with Clint or Laura – both of whom had either Companions attached to them for a majority of the time. It was obvious to you that both children adored their parents, but Wanda was slightly more attached to Clint, and Pietro to Laura.

Nobody was left out, or received poor gifts in their stockings. There had been years where Companions entered the House shortly before Christmas, and they received nothing (since “Father Christmas” hadn't known they were arriving in time to bring them presents). Other times, girls would receive switches in their stockings instead of presents; you'd certainly been in that boat before. You were quite glad that hadn't happened to anybody.

As Bucky explained to you, since it was tradition for the Barnes family, the 'adults' of the family opened their presents first (unless someone discovered a present hidden in the tree), followed by the children, oldest to youngest. That meant you would be last, which was fine; when it was announced, you were still fighting back yawns. The adults had no sort of order that they needed to go in, so Natasha went first, since the Bartons hadn't wanted to relinquish their children for presents, you had been moved from Steve's lap into Bucky's, and your Sergeant urged, “Ladies first, sis.”

To your utter surprise, Natasha opened the present from you first, then she pressed several kisses on your cheeks when she unraveled a glittering silver and pearl hair comb; it could sit in her bun and make her appear more ethereal than she naturally was. Nobody mentioned how much such a gift would have cost, but Natasha was obviously appreciative, and that held its weight in gold. (Especially since Steve gave you a gentle squeeze once her kisses stopped.) Pietro's gift was a sturdy hairbrush with NAR on the handle, and Wanda's was a set of handmade mittens with fur sewn on the inside. (Both twins also received a plethora of kisses, even though Pietro pretended to pout over it.)

Laura's and Clint's gift involved a scarf and a muff, both made of soft rabbit fur, and from your Keepers, there were several tubes of expensive paints. She gave Laura a hug, and thanked the three men, before stating that it was Steve's turn to open his gifts. Steve pouted over that, and you knew that his shyness was coming through. Despite his relatively high status inside the courtroom, your Captain didn't usually like being the center of attention.

“No falling asleep now,” Bucky whispered teasingly as Steve started to open his first gift. “Or I'll bounce my knee like Stevie does until you wake up.”

Steve was blushing as he opened the first gift, which was from Clint and Laura. Still, his eyes shone when he discovered season tickets to several baseball games in New York. The twins had gotten him two sets of drawing pencils: one in color, and the other various textures of graphite. Bucky's gift consisted of four sketchbooks, each bound with leather and bearing _Captain_ _Steven_ _Rogers_ on the covers. He chuckled when he opened the scarf from you, and he teased, “Conniving with Bucky this year, aren't you, Little One?” as he wrapped it lovingly around his neck, then kissed your cheek.

However, Steve started to tear up when he opened the gift from Natasha, and before anyone could ask him what was wrong, he wordlessly showed everyone the present. You'd known about it in advance, but you hadn't thought Natasha would finish in time. Clearly, underestimating her wasn't something to do. The gift was a painting – a wonderfully realistic portrait of you, sitting in the attic with Black Panther and a book in your lap. She had sat with you a few times and quietly sketched while Steve was at work, and she'd asked that you keep it a secret.

Given Steve's reaction, this painting – and, by extension, you – were more important to your little family than you could comprehend.

“Don't you _dare_ ,” Bucky said, taking note of how Steve was eyeing you, and the Sergeant wrapped his arms a little more firmly on your waist. Laura and Wanda both laughed, and Steve conceded to Bucky's demands with a sigh.

“Clint?”

Dr. Barton, at the prompting of his children, opened their gift first – which was actually from them, and his wife. After opening a large box, followed by another box, and then another ( _“If this is empty, after wasting all of this wrapping paper, the three of you are getting a spanking.”_ ), he revealed several silver medical instruments that you couldn't recognize but they all looked rather deadly. However, Clint looked incredibly touched, especially when he noticed each piece had _CB_ engraved in it. The case they came in – you counted at least ten instruments, but there were also pockets which looked full – also had _Dr. C. Barton_ on it.

“Now you can no longer complain about your associates stealing your equipment without proof,” Laura teased politely, before Clint gave her a kiss.

From Natasha (and you, according to the note), Clint unwrapped a solid pound of chocolate, and it took you a moment to realize – if Dr. Barton's wide eyes gave him away, that he, like Bucky, had an intense sweet tooth. A small package from Bucky revealed two sets of gold cuff links, and a letter-sized gift from Steve proved to be a year's long subscription to a new medical journal.

“I just hope it's good and not written by some quack,” Steve joked, and Clint laughed.

“Well, if it is, it'll be funny to read anyway. Thank you.” And Clint gave Bucky a look.

“No.”

“Come on; give Steve a turn.”

“No.”

Clint sighed. “Laura, love of my life, I believe it's your turn.”

You liked Laura Barton, even though – admittedly – you hadn't been around her very much. She had a very friendly demeanor, and her expressions often rivaled Natasha's whenever her husband – or one of your Keepers – said something silly. Wanda had nothing but wonderful things to say about her mother, and you certainly wanted to spend more time with her in the future.

Her presents reminded you of something that Madame Potts probably would have received at the Companion House. A decorative bottle, filled with perfume (from Clint.) A silver bracelet (from Pietro). The handmade scarf and five bookmarks with pressed flowers on them (from Wanda). An extremely decorative coffee pot (from Natasha – and you). And, without fail, Bucky and Steve stole the thunder when Laura's jaw dropped at the sight of a beautiful green gown, which had apparently come from France.

“Clint told us you'd been eyeing that,” Steve said with a small grin. “Merry Christmas, Laura.”

“Thank you, Steve, Bucky.”

Begrudgingly, after receiving a blank stare from nearly everyone in the family, Bucky relinquished his hold on you – only to be immediately placed in Steve's lap.

( _“Mama and Papa did the same thing to me for the first few years after Pietro and I became their Companions,”_ Wanda told you later, after she asked you if you were fine with it. _“It's sweet. I just wanted to know if you were alright with their affection.”_

“ _Of course I am! They would know if I wasn't.”_ )

Natasha, to everyone's surprise, had gotten Bucky gold cuff links as well. ( _“You told me what you got Clint. I thought it was a nice idea.”_ ) The entire Barton family had gotten him a large and heavy package, which ended up being an expensive driving cap and clothes. You'd heard Bucky talk about riding in the new automobiles, but the clothing to ride in them were expensive, as were the cars themselves, and in Brooklyn, having a car would be disastrous. You were rather nervous when Bucky opened your own present, but he was grinning from ear to ear as he opened his stationary set – especially since the ink pens that were in it were apparently rather nice. For fifty cents, you would have hoped so. (Like Natasha, he pressed several rapid kisses to your cheek, but you half-suspected that it was in an effort to get you to come back into his lap.)

Steve's gift was a silver watch and chain with an interesting design on the cover, and when Bucky opened it, he became rather teary-eyed and struggled to say thank-you without crying. (Bucky showed you in the inside of the watch after supper. It said _Never forget that I love you. -S_ ) The wonderful gift, however, didn't cause Steve to relinquish you from his hold, so Bucky settled on sitting his chair next to the two of you as Pietro started on his pile.

From Clint, he already had the knife, and from Laura, he was given a leather wallet with silver mounts. Bucky, Natasha, and you gave Pietro several books of poetry; you hadn't known that he enjoyed reading it, so you tucked that information away for later. Wanda's present to her brother involved a book that didn't seem to be in English and a toy soldier in a non-American uniform.

“Do you know how hard he was to find?” Wanda said, before Pietro engulfed her in a hug. Steve looked slightly nervous after Pietro opened that gift, but when he discovered the nutcracker – who resembled a soldier – Pietro looked quite pleased.

“Thank you, Uncle Steve,” he said, standing to give your Captain a hug.

There was one last gift, labeled from _Father_ _Christmas_ (Pietro gave Bucky a side-eyed look, and your Keeper tried to look innocent). However, both Pietro and Wanda (and you, to be certain) dropped their jaws when he opened the package. A pair of ice skates! And they weren't the simple kind that attached to the bottom of one's shoe. They were a solid leather boot with the sharp skate blades built into it.

Wanda, after realizing that she also had a present from _Father_ _Christmas_ , opened that one first. Hers also included a pair of expensive ice skates, but while Pietro's had a more masculine appearance, Wanda's were definitely meant for a woman. (Her smaller foot also gave it away.) Unlike Pietro, who played along with the pretense that Father Christmas was an entity beyond the room, the younger Maximoff twin hopped from her seat to give Bucky a hug.

From Steve, Wanda also received a nutcracker, but hers resembled a ballerina instead of a soldier. ( _“Oh, Uncle Steve, she is beautiful! Thank you!”_ ) A leather-bound journal was her gift from Bucky, and she happily gave him a second hug for it. Her brother had gotten her several drawing pencils and a plush rabbit; a set of combs and hair brushes with her initials on the handle were from Clint, and an advanced sewing kit was from Laura.

Funnily enough, when she opened your small gift, she squealed with delight and gave you a hug. “It's so cute, _kukla_ , thank you!” And she showed off the present – a large pin cushion in the shape of a strawberry – to everyone. You'd been slightly nervous that she might not like it, but you were glad to be proven wrong. Her final present, from Natasha, was a beautiful purple hat with peacock feathers.

Several moments after Wanda proudly placed the peacock hat onto her head with a grin, you realized that it was now your turn to open presents. In all honesty, your brain probably wouldn't have processed that if it weren't for Natasha saying, “Alright, Steve. Let her go. It's her turn.”

You giggled at that, and Steve eased you off his lap with a pout, before you settled on opening the present from Father Christmas first, knowing very well that it was from Bucky. Still, when you opened the present and saw your own pair of ice skates, it was difficult not to tear up. They resembled Wanda's more than Pietro's, but yours held a slight navy tint while hers were more beige. They were far more beautiful than anything you'd received at the Companion House – and with your biological family – and, like Wanda, you gave Bucky a tight squeeze as a thank you.

“Bet Father Christmas is feeling rather grateful now, isn't he?” Clint teased, and Bucky chuckled.

“He is, but open the one from Nat and me last, Babydoll, alright?”

You nodded, as Natasha rolled her eyes and said, “You're just as dramatic as Steve, Buck. And it's Nat and I.” You let both adults bicker as you carefully opened the present from Clint and Laura, which ended up being an extremely thick book of sheet music. To your surprise, it wasn't hymnals either; Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, Brahms, Chopin, Handel, Tchaikovsky, Haydn, Debussy, and many other composers you recognized from the brief glance. Challenging pieces that you hadn't seen before, and most certainly wanted to play.

“Steve told us you play piano,” Laura said, when she noticed your excited expression. “I hope this isn't too difficult for you.” Then she laughed when you hugged her tightly, then Clint.

“Thank you, thank you,” you said, and he gave you a gentle squeeze before letting go.

From Wanda and Pietro together, there was a soft and warm rabbit muff, just like the one Natasha received, and you were very happy about that. You refused to mention it sometimes, because you knew Steve or Bucky would fuss, but a muff would help more against the New York cold than your mittens would (especially if you kept your mittens inside of your muff). You hugged Wanda first, and then Pietro – who accepted it, to your surprise, rather than pushing you away.

To your utter surprise, your present from Steve was a beginner's sewing kit, with several needles, twenty spools of different colored thread, some other instruments, and a small book of designs. Truth be told, you knew _how_ to sew; you just weren't particularly creative about it. (Not to mention, you had too little money to purchase supplies to make anything at the Companion House.)

“Thank you, Steve,” you said, cuddling up to him for a moment, and he returned the hug and pecked your cheek.

“'M not sure what your level of skill is, so I started small. Angie said she'd be willing to help you, if you wanted.”

“That would be lovely.”

Your final present, which was comically large and exceptionally heavy, was from both Natasha and Bucky. At first, you thought it might be some kind of beast – a large dog, perhaps? Then you realized that would be foolish, and Bucky would know better. Any sort of animal as a present shouldn't be wrapped in a box with no holes. (The box also had not moved once in the past two hours, so...) It took nearly an entire minute to open, even with Pietro offering to help with the use of his new knife, and you soon found out why.

Inside of the package was a doll. (You should have seen this coming, if you were honest with yourself. Bucky owned a toy factory, for the love of God.) The doll was beautifully crafted, with a face that looked as if it were made of porcelain – but it was quite sturdy; it was also rather large for a doll, about sixteen inches tall or so, with real hair and eyelashes, instead of paint and thread. She also had a great resemblance to you, but her hair was much longer. The outfit she had was intricately detailed, highly fashionable, and, well, looked as if it had come from your closet and shrunk down to the doll's size.

“Oh, she's so beautiful,” you couldn't help but say, and Wanda's eyes were as large as saucers, before she quickly started talking to Natasha in Russian. You could tell by her expression that it wasn't insulting, and Natasha calmly responded in Russian as well.

( _“Uncle James got me a doll just like that when I turned eighteen,”_ Wanda explained after luncheon, once everyone awoke from their nap. _“They're called the Barnes Princess Dolls.”_

“ _Princess dolls?”_ you laughed

“ _Yes! They're so expensive and well-made, only princesses in other countries can afford to spend so much money on them.”_ )

“There should be more in there,” Bucky said politely, and as you gently sat the doll upright nearby, Clint rolled his eyes.

“You just have to make a spectacle of yourself, don't you, James?”

“Well, if I don't, then Stevie here will, and I can't have that... Babydoll, are you alright?”

You nodded, and you were struggling to keep from crying. In the bottom of the package were two trunks – doll sized trunks, which meant your beautiful new doll also had some type of a wardrobe. If her current outfit was any indicator, and if you knew Bucky as well as you did, then this doll's trunks were likely as lavish as your own. Without even bothering to open them, you ran over to Bucky again and clutched tightly onto him.

**~ * ~**

Christmas luncheon was a grand affair; you could have easily called it a Christmas feast, given how much food was on the table. You'd been smelling meats and other delicious dishes wafting through the house over the past several days, but you hadn't been allowed into the kitchens to help. At first, you'd been slightly disheartened by that, since you normally weren't banned from aiding in the kitchens, but Wanda had explained it well enough.

“It's not that they don't want your help, _kukla_. It's just that there's not enough room in the kitchens for you: two cooks, and three maids, and then you? You would be packed like a can! Besides, it's fun seeing what comes on Christmas! One year, Papa had a boar's head on the table!”

Thankfully, there was no boar's head on the table this year, but that did not make the feast any less royal. There were several minces pies; a bowl of roasted nuts; a heavily-laden plate of dates and figs; chocolate; a roasted pork; two fruitcakes; coffee and apple cider and wine; grilled carrots and asparagus; a glazed ham; two roasted quails; pheasant pies; a mountain of buttery rolls; broiled and mashed potatoes; and plum pudding. Everything tasted delicious, and each person had seconds or thirds (or fourths, in Steve's and Clint's cases). You knew there would be plenty left over for the staff – though you felt slightly bad that they were not allowed to eat the feast with everyone else.

Still, when the plum pudding arrived and everyone dove in, you cheered when Wanda found the quarter in her section.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything that was mentioned as a gift, was something of the time that someone would have received as a Christmas present. Also, back then, driving an automobile required special clothes and a cap, since they were built differently than modern vehicles. (And yes, some dolls had real human hair and eyelashes, since synthetic fibers weren't popular until the 1930's, but this was expensive. Most dolls would have been around 6 – 10 inches.) 
> 
> The Christmas luncheon was also historically accurate. People often ate so much that a post-luncheon nap was pretty much scheduled into Christmas. 
> 
> And before anybody asks, yes, I know you guys want a mistletoe kiss. Don't worry: I've got a plan. ;3


	13. December 25, 1906

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is what I had previously written, prior to my Christmas muse giving me the middle finger and storming out: my INTENTION had been to write about what happened for the wealthy during Boxing Day (December 26), and how they would aid the poor during this time. (That didn't happen. Whoops.)

Following the long nap everyone in the house had on Christmas after your feast, you spent the remainder of the evening with your family. There was no sort of Christmas supper, since everyone was still quite stuffed, but there was still a fair amount of hot chocolate and apple cider – and nibbling on sugar cookies and chocolates long after nightfall.

For most of the evening, Wanda and Pietro seemed to entertain themselves with their new presents. Pietro read his new books. Wanda started to transfer her old sewing and knitting instruments into the new kit (which was inside of a large basket), and wrote in her new journal. Both twins had wanted to take their skates out onto the pond, especially after learning that you'd never gone ice skating before – and their dual offers to teach you made you grin. But Clint told them no – despite both of their pouting faces – and said that they could take them out “tomorrow, after luncheon”.

Natasha spent a good portion of Christmas Day sketching in one of her old sketchbooks, and Steve – on and off – did the same. That is, when he and Bucky weren't vying over who got to cuddle you. If Bucky held onto you, Steve would sketch. Regardless of whether you were sitting in his lap or not, Bucky engaged both Laura and Clint in conversation about everything under the sun.

Truth be told, you sort of wanted to flip through your new music book and practice pieces, but there was no piano at this house. Instead, you spent your time cuddled between your Keepers' laps; for the most part, you were alert and kept up with whatever conversation flowed, but you occasionally dozed off. (Steve would tickle your sides, and Bucky would bounce his knee until you jostled awake. Both of your Keepers found this rather amusing.)

It wasn't until Pietro started to yawn – and Wanda actually fell asleep with her journal still in hand – when the Bartons decided to walk back home (Clint made it sound as if they would take hours, and not a mere thirty-seconds). Pietro sleepily leaned against his mother, and Clint picked Wanda up and held her in his arms, gently shushing her when she grumbled about it.

(“Papa, I can walk!”

“So you can fall face-first into the snow? I don't think so.”)

At that time, Steve had a hold of you, with you lazily snuggling into his side while he'd been sketching Wanda. However, with his muse gone – and Natasha and Bucky teasing each other over something across the room - and with the grandfather clock projecting 10pm, he let out a low whistle.

“Let's get you to bed, Little One,” he purred to you, pecking your head.

Natasha suddenly let out a shriek as Bucky attempted to swipe something from her hand, and both gave away to a chase around the table (twice), around several chairs, and around the couch (once), before Bucky's foot caught hold of a chair and he tripped. Both you and Steve couldn't help but laugh at the sight, then you realized what Natasha had in her hand. A piece of mistletoe, with one remaining berry, which – presumably – one of them had just taken down from the entrance to the living area.

Cheekily, Natasha held it over your head, with Bucky ferociously pouting. “Oh, no. Let Steve have the last kiss.”

Your Captain became rather pink about the ears and upper cheeks, but nonetheless, he obliged Natasha and his teasing. He pressed a kiss to your lips, and – you wouldn't admit it to him, of course – it was your first. It was short, his lips soft and full of shyness under Natasha's eyes, and he pecked your nose cheekily to make you giggle before taking the berry from the mistletoe.

“Quit pouting like a toddler, James,” Natasha scolded as Steve took your hand and eased you off the couch.

“Head on up, Little One. We're heading into town before luncheon tomorrow.”

You were slightly confused – after all, what would you be doing, the day after Christmas? - but you kept that to yourself and trotted upstairs to your room after wishing everyone goodnight. Right before you could crawl into bed, there was a knock on your door. You answered, and there stood Bucky, holding a sprig of mistletoe playfully over your head.

“Ohh, dear,” your Sergeant teased and you giggled. “Caught my little Babydoll under the mistletoe.”

“But there's no berries, Bucky.”

“Technicalities,” he said, even though you were right, and he also kissed you. His lips were also soft, and the kiss was not even remotely shy like Steve's, but it was short, and he pecked your forehead when he pulled away. He placed the mistletoe in your hand and murmured, “Sweet dreams, Babydoll,” before you watched him head back downstairs.

 


	14. March 30, 1907 - Day Before Easter

“I'm _bored_ , Bucky...”

Bucky chuckled at his Babydoll's pouty tone, but he didn't look up from the various letters and business contracts that were lying in front of him for reviewing. (He'd promised Steve not to work on Easter, and Bucky intended to keep that promise, but since Easter wasn't officially for another eleven hours...) “You're _bored_ , are you? Where'd Wanda run off too?”

“She's caught a cold. Uncle Clint won't let her come outside.”

As pleased as he (and Steve, Natasha, and the rest of the extended family) was to hear the Companion call the doctor by _uncle_ , he didn't like hearing the dejected tone of her voice. Wanda had quickly become her best friend – particularly since most of her contact outside of the family consisted of Dr. Banner or total strangers. Traveling to Westchester with the Bartons for Easter, only for Wanda to become sick, had been disappointing for both girls, to say the least. Bucky had momentarily forgotten that fact; work could do that to a man.

“Why don't you go play with Nat, or Steve, or Pietro, Babydoll?”

“Natasha and Steve went into town with Aunt Laura... and I don't like Pietro.”

 _That_ certainly caught Bucky's attention, and he looked up from his work to see little Babydoll leaning over the arm of the chair in a rather unladylike manner, her own arms crossed under her chin and a pout on her face. As amusing at it was to Bucky, seeing his normally docile Companion show some sense of mild brattiness that Madame Potts had warned them over, he knew Steve would disapprove.

“Sit up straight, sweetheart. Steve'll point his finger at you if he sees you like that.”

It was the truth. To everyone's surprise, Steve was the sterner of the pair of them; he was far more likely to scold their little Companion for occasional acts of naughtiness, accompanied by stern finger pointing and a firm but quiet tone, rather than Bucky, who would make a lighthearted threat about popping his Babydoll's rear end before sending her to a nearby corner to sulk. So far, neither of them had cause to actually spank their Companion – save from the occasional pop for cheekiness, or mild defiance, or the two swats that Bucky had given her when he (and not Steve) had caught her climbing the tree in Central Park. (It had been more out of fright than actual punishment, and he'd apologized for it later on.)

He waited for his Companion to obey, though the pout did not leave her face, before he continued, “What's this nonsense about you not liking Pietro? You've been getting along just fine with both of the twins.”

That wasn't entirely true, if Babydoll were to be entirely honest, but none of the 'adults' knew that. Pietro had been civil, to put it politely. He was nice enough, but he didn't go out of his way to befriend the youngest Companion, nor did he seem to approve of her friendship with his twin sister.

“ _Pietro's just jealous, kukla,”_ Wanda said one afternoon in February, when she had come over to the Bartons' home for the afternoon, and both girls were sewing and chatting while Pietro was sulking in another part of the house. _“He's mad that he's not my only playmate anymore, and we can do things we want to do without him, rather than me relying on him for tea parties or playing with my dolls – or anything, really.”_

“ _Is he_ _ **always**_ _so grumpy?”_

Wanda had made a 'so-so' gesture with her hands. _“He is slowly coming out of it. I think if Papa or Mama found out, they would put a stop to it, if they are able. I would not worry about it, if I were you.”_

“I like being with Wanda,” Babydoll admitted, before tacking on, “Pietro's just a grouch.”

Bucky couldn't hide his chuckle at that. “I think he's probably just concerned about Wanda because she's not feeling too well... If you go look in the attic, there should be a croquet set that might be of interest to you.”

“Really?” His little Companion's eyes brightened significantly, and he smiled.

“Yes. If you find it, I want you to go next door and grab Pietro, and the two of you can entertain yourselves.” When her pout returned, he added, in a slightly firmer tone that was normally reserved for Steve to use, “Or you can shuffle yourself into that corner until Steve returns at four.”

Standing in the corner for three hours held no appeal to the young Companion, so she quickly scuttled out of the living room and upstairs to the attic.

**~ * ~**

“I hope you don't actually believe that an Easter bunny is arriving.”

Getting Pietro to leave the Barton household had not been a particularly difficult task for Babydoll. She had merely set up the croquet set across both sprawling lawns, rapped on the door, and asked Ophelia if Pietro had gone into town with Laura Barton (even though she knew he hadn't). He had begrudgingly accepted her invitation to play, but both of them knew he only agreed because Clint was within earshot.

“Yes, I understand that,” she admitted, after checking that neither Bucky nor Clint were spying from their respective porches.”I don't wish to ruin their fun. I like festivals.”

With Wanda sick (and Pietro acting grumpier than usual over the past few days), Babydoll was the only Companion in good spirits. Laura Barton was assisting the church in Westchester with their Easter festival, which would follow the sunrise (and the regularly scheduled) service. According to her and Natasha, it would be filled with storytelling, simple garden games – such as hiding colored eggs, playing croquet, and sack races – and a luncheon that was akin to an extravagant picnic. It was, for the most part, meant for small children, but there would be entertainment for everyone else as well. Pietro personally found the whole affair childish... at least, that's what he _told_ everyone, since Wanda would be unable to attend. He'd enjoyed it every year with his twin by his side, and he didn't want to fathom going without his little sister.

The day after Easter, Natasha – and approximately sixty other women – were planning a suffragist rally. They would take hold of the nearby park and part of the church-front to talk about the need for a woman's vote – and a Companions vote, without the written approval of their Keeper. Nearly the whole family was pleased of the event, particularly Wanda and Babydoll (who was finally allowed to go to such a thing), but Pietro – who didn't think women ought to vote, and should instead trust their husbands to make government decisions for them – was not.

All in all, Pietro was festering in a rather large pot of unhappiness. His twin was sick. He would, most likely, be forced to attend the Easter festival, and he would likely pout over it the entire time. All of the women in the family were excited to attend the rally (which, if Clint would allow it – and the doctor _never_ would, he would protest it). He was also feeling exceptionally jealous as of late, and unsure of his own place within the ever-growing intimate family of the Bartons and Rogers-Barnes, but he would never dare admit that aloud.

And, unfortunately, because of that, everyone was simply assuming that he was being grouchy for the sake of being unpleasant. Clint had repeatedly warned him to “straighten up”, or he would get a taste of something unpleasant against his backside, but the threats and promises had been for naught.

However, his slouching stance did perk up when Babydoll's red ball rolled in the wrong direction. She was quite bad at croquet, and he was fantastic at it. He had gone through five of the hoops already, and she'd only gotten one, on complete accident.

“I don't understand how you put up with it,” he said. “Their babying. They treat you like a plaything, not a person. Uncle James calls you a doll; so does Wanda. Mama and Papa have gotten into it too.”

“It's a nickname,” Babydoll explained politely. “They mean no malice.”

She didn't want to mention to him that she hated her own name, because she thought he would start calling her that to set her on edge. Truthfully, Pietro wouldn't, but instead of pursuing the topic further, he merely shrugged and tapped his green ball through the nearby hoop.

“Pietro. Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

“Another one, then.” Wanda never put up with much of his sass, but Babydoll still didn't know him especially well, so she tried not to point it out. One of them needed to remain civil, she thought.

Pietro sighed in an overly dramatic way. “If you must.”

“... Why do you hate me?”

Pietro actually stilled at her words, before he looked at her. “What?”

“Why do you hate me?”

He sighed. “I don't hate you,” he answered.

“Then why are you never nice?”

If her tone was full of accusation, he would have snapped right back and said she was trying to make him into a villain. But her tone held such a soft and realistic tone that he realized she had been picking up on his unhappy projection. Still, he wasn't about to admit his own self-consciousness to the very person whom he thought was causing it, especially when he could think of no solution to the problem. (Of course, any third-person party could recognize that neither Companion was at fault, but insecurity and a lack of communication between each Companion and their Keepers certainly was.)

So, like many fools, Pietro took an idiot's way out: he took a deep breath and he lied. He lied with such a convincing tone that he knew – since Babydoll didn't know him well enough yet – she would think he was telling the truth.

“Because, if I'm being honest, I don't see why my uncles would want you. Mama and Papa got Wanda and I because they wanted children. Uncle James' businessmen get Companions because they want children – or wives – or both. Uncle James and Uncle Steve don't want children; we all know that. And they can't share you as a wife, can't they? That's illegal and preposterous and —”

“I know they don't want a wife,” Babydoll admitted, trying to ignore the bubbling sickness of insecurity coming to the surface. She'd done a fair job of hiding it away since Christmas time, but hiding one's insecurities (rather than confronting them) was more destructive in the long run.

Both of them shared a moment, staring each other down, before Pietro sighed.

“I suppose you know then. You have been with them long enough.”

“I know how much they love each other, yes. And I have no problem with that. There is nothing wrong with it.” That much Babydoll knew with her whole heart. Seeing Bucky and Steve so happy with each other: she couldn't think of anything more natural in the world than their love for one another.

“Others think differently,” Pietro said scornfully. “So... they are using you to hide. You are a shield. A mask. And if you are their shield, I can understand why they would spoil you so. It would seem illogical if they didn't, but I don't understand why they _like_ having you around. They don't need to have you with them every moment of every day. They could keep you in the city while they went off to stay with their real family, and nobody would be any wiser about you.”

There was a bleak glimmer of truth to Pietro's hateful, mostly-false words. There had been several scandals in the past few years concerning Companions and their Keepers. It was never physically abusive, of course, but there had been several cases across the country where a Keeper was taking care of a Companion for the purpose of hiding themselves from the public. Wealthy bachelors who didn't want to take a wife (for a variety of reasons), but also didn't want to lose their companies if any ill news or false rumors broke out. Wealthy women who wanted their own independence, but knew having a male Companion on their arm would keep gold-diggers away from their door. Old, wealthy men – and some women – who kept a Companion in one city, far away from their husbands and wives, and visited them for extramarital affairs. It was an ugly, nasty business, and so obscenely rare to occur with Companions that any instance of it caused an uproar of tremendous gossip.

However, Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers had never treated their Companion with such scorn. They'd always been loving and attentive, even when nobody was around. _Surely,_ Babydoll thought, _it they wanted to have_ _that_ _sort of relationship, I would have figured it out early on!_

 _But what if Pietro's right?_ A nasty little voice whispered inside of her head, fervently growing stronger from Pietro's vocal insecurities and her secret ones. _What if your Keepers are only affectionate to make you think you aren't some sort of cover-up? After all, you barely ever leave the house, and they don't go out with you often._

That was true. They'd only ever taken their Companion to a handful of places: the nearby park, the church, Steve's office once or twice. Any other sort of trip – the theater, beauty parlors and simply walking about – had been with Natasha, Wanda, or Angie.

 _He's not wrong. They treat you like a little doll. They'll tire of you eventually, and then what?_ The voice hissed. _And if they don't tire of you, you'll be alone forever. Their love is reserved for each other. Not for you._

Babydoll suddenly felt quite furious at the entire world in general, but especially Pietro for bringing these insecurities forward instead of allowing them to remain buried forever. Struggling to suppress the tears that wanted to flood from her eyes, Babydoll – realizing that her own ball was beside Pietro's – set her foot on her red ball and gave it a hard whack. Because her own foot kept her ball from moving, the pressure sent Pietro's green ball flying, and it shot straight into the pond, landing with a loud splash.

Both Companions were very quiet for several seconds, staring in shock at the rippling pond water, until Pietro turned towards her and shouted,

“You are such a brat!” Fire was practically shooting from his eyes. Were such a mean expression on any stranger, Babydoll would've run for the hills, but seeing it on Pietro, it only further spurred her own anger. “I ought to spank you myself!”

“You lay a hand on me, Pietro Maximoff, and I will punch you in the nose!”

Babydoll hadn't quite noticed how fast Pietro was capable of moving before. One moment, he was standing about seven feet away, angrily holding his croquet mallet in one hand. The next moment, he was right beside her, putting her head into a lock underneath his arm, pressing his hand roughly against her skull. Everything started to blur together after that point. Her screaming at him to release her; his laughing and continuing to taunt her. Babydoll trying to move away by pushing herself backwards; Pietro following, because his hold on her was so tight.

Both of them falling backwards into the ice cold pond, creating a splash and uproar loud enough to warn Bucky and Clint that something was wrong. Both men ran outside as Babydoll managed to surface from the water first, struggling to get onto the dry land with all of her soaking skirt layers weighing her down like a drowned cat. Pietro surfaced moments later, when he seemed determined to drown her, both Keepers ran over to separate the two.

“ _What_ in the _hell_ is going on here?!” Dr. Barton snapped, once both Companions were on the grass, firmly kept apart by their respective Keepers, who were now also thoroughly soaked from aiding them out of the water. Dr. Barton had taken most of the brunt of the water, though Bucky had a sinking feeling that his leather shoes might be ruined.

“She started it!” Pietro screamed.

“I did not! You grabbed me!” Babydoll screamed back. “I hate you, Pietro Maximoff! You're the absolute meanest person alive!”

“You take that back!” Pietro yelled.

“That is _enough_!” Bucky's voice came out like a roar, a true Sergeant's command, and both Companions were silenced immediately. He gave Babydoll's shoulder a squeeze. “Apologize. Now.”

“No,” she replied.

“Would you care to repeat that?” Bucky said in such a tone, he truly mean, _If you don't take back your words, you shall regret them posthaste._

“I hate you!” she repeated, looking straight at Pietro. “You're always _so_ mean, and you grabbed me, and I tried to get away from you, but you wouldn't let me go, and now we're all wet!” She stamped her foot on a childish impulse, and she could feel tears starting to blur her vision.

Clapping a hand over his Companion's mouth to avoid further outbursts, Bucky said, “Clint, I have something I need to take care of, if you don't mind.”

“By all means,” Clint said as Pietro started to smirk. That is, until Clint grabbed him firmly by the ear. “So do I.”

With a firm grip on his Companion's arm, Bucky ushered her back into the house, ignoring the sound of Pietro's whining and explanations from afar. “You are going to go upstairs, take a hot bath, then you will take a nap,” Bucky said firmly, shutting the door behind him. “I am too angry to deal with this sort of nonsense right now. Go.”

Without any further word, Babydoll quickly scampered upstairs, not even thinking about disobeying her Sergeant and trying to ignore the tears that were swelling in the corner of her eyes. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIFFHANGER. *gasp!*  
> HOOOO BOY. There's gonna be a lot of mischief coming up. Buckle up kiddies: you're in for a ride.  
> 
> Also, I had a wonderful friend of mine beta-read this chapter, when I had concerns over Pietro. He's kind of an asshole in this chapter - and during the entire mischief roller coaster you all will go on shortly - but I also want you guys to like him in the end. So, please bear with me? ;3


	15. March 30, 1907

You'd gotten into a hot bath easily, after asking Kathleen for assistance with removing your wet clothes. (Taking off a soaking wet corset was not an experience you wanted to have a second time. Especially with Kathleen in your ear, muttering to herself about how difficult it was going to be to remove all of the pond scum stains from your dress and underpinnings.) You were shivering for several minutes, then you felt overheated, then shivering again.

Kathleen, you were certain, was an angel, since she helped you into some night clothes – a combination and chemise – before helping you under the covers. She hadn't asked a single question, which you were grateful for, since you were in no mood to answer. Still, once she closed the door, you could feel your anger and hatred towards Pietro festering.

How _dare_ he try to blame this on you? How _dare_ he?! He had been so ridiculously mean towards you: he had said, to your face, that your Keepers – your beloved Steve and Bucky – did not want you... And you hadn't been able to refute him. You were mad at him, and you were mad at yourself for not standing your ground. You were mad at your heart for questioning everything in life. You felt more cranky than you could recall since becoming a Companion. You felt tired. And you wanted desperately to sleep, to force your brain to stop speeding like a train, but it only went faster, and that didn't help your temper.

No wonder you found it difficult to fall asleep.

After nearly an hour and a half, there was a knock at your door. You had been occasionally crying mad tears, and you were certain that your face was puffy as you sat up in the bed.

“Come in.”

It was Bucky, and he noticed your tears – and, no doubt, the scowl you could feel permanently etching itself into your face.

“Couldn't sleep?”

You shook your head. Bucky nodded and sat onto the downy bed beside you.

“I'm going to have Clint check you later to make sure you won't catch pneumonia. That freezing water couldn't be good for you.”

You had no response to that. You kept your eyes on your hands, playing with your fingers, and you realized after several moments of silence that this was the first time Bucky had seen you without a house coat on. Steve hadn't, but Natasha had. So had the maids. The servants of the house and one of your best friends had seen you in your underpinnings, but neither of your Keepers.

You weren't entirely sure why that suddenly popped into your head, but you felt incredibly embarrassed – and frustrated – over it.

“Pietro told Clint what happened.”

You looked at Bucky, and he had such an expression of sympathy that you could feel your eyes watering slightly. Still, you kept quiet, because – in all honesty – what were you to say? That you were worried that Pietro was right?

“Clint said he's been spoiling for a fight over the last couple of days, and he lashed out at you by taunting you about winning the croquet game.”

… _What?_ You thought. _That wasn't right at all._ But Bucky kept talking.

“He said you weren't taking any of his bait, so he threatened to spank you for being a poor sport, and a fight broke out. Is that correct?”

 _Not at all,_ you thought. Pietro hadn't lied about the fight, or threatening to spank you, but he'd lied about many of the underlying reasons behind it. Teasing and taunting over losing a croquet game wouldn't have bothered you, but what he'd actually said...

“ _I don't see why my uncles would want you... You are a shield...”_

Part of you wanted to cry and inform your Keeper of everything Pietro had said. You wanted to ask Bucky if it was all true, or if it was unfounded, or somewhere in-between, because you loved them dearly and the thought of them not returning that love broke your heart.

 _Do you really want to know?_ The nasty little voice in your head whispered. _Do you really want Bucky to tell you that he and Steve don't love you?_

You felt backed into an incredibly small corner. On one hand, the morally upright part of you wanted to reveal the legitimate truth to your Keeper, regardless of the consequences. On the other hand, would you be able to handle whatever Bucky said, if you were to tell the truth?

So, instead of answering, you kept silent.

“Babydoll,” Bucky said, his voice firm, “I want an answer. You're already on very thin ice as it is.”

“I didn't do anything,” you defended softly.

“Oh? So you wouldn't count telling Pietro that you hated him, and acting disrespectful, as 'anything'?”

You shook your head, even though you knew he was right. At the Companion House, Madame Potts had never allowed any sort of disrespect or rudeness between the girls, at any point in time, even if it was justified. You had been paddled far too many times for that alone. “No.”

“You've _never_ acted this naughty before,” Bucky said, his tone soft but firm, and you wanted to cry at hearing him scold you so. Steve had scolded you before, but not Bucky. Never Bucky. “You are better behaved than this, I _know_ that. You know better than to act rudely towards _anybody_.”

Instead of allowing you time to respond, your Sergeant suddenly grabbed one of your wrists, urged you out from between the covers of your bed, and you found yourself hanging over his lap. Despite how much you tried squirming to get away, Bucky immediately clamped an arm down around your waist, and – truth be told – your stamina and fitness was nowhere near the amount needed to get away from a former Sergeant. You were stuck over his lap until he decided to let you up.

“ _Buuuuckyyyyy_!” you whined, hoping the pitiful tone might make him consider letting you up. No such luck.

“You had the opportunity to talk, Babydoll. Now it's my turn.”

He said nothing further, but the sharp sting that erupted across your left cheek and the loud clap that accompanied it spoke volumes. So did the quick rhythm Bucky set up, how your own cries of pain were quickly drowned out by the continuous smacks, and the quickly blossoming burn across your backside. Without most of the layers to protect your backside, you could practically feel the callouses on Bucky's hand as he spanked you – and he spanked _hard_. Far harder than Madame Potts had managed with her own hand (though not harder than the paddle she'd stored in her desk).

The tears that had been swelling in your eyes previously quickly started spilling over from the pain – and from the thought of having disappointed Bucky so much that he had cause to actually spank you. Part of you was still very worried about neither of your Keepers wanting you, and yet, you still didn't want to disappoint them. It was a confusing conundrum, and you had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

After what felt like endless spanks, with your rear burning and Bucky's hand relentlessly continuing to fall, your Keeper spoke: “I simply cannot understand how utterly spoiled and incorrigible you have been acting today. I don't know what has brought it on, but I'm putting a stop to it _right_ _now_. If you continue acting as if this sort of behavior is acceptable, by God, I will take your hairbrush and spank you with it until you can't sit for a week. Do you understand, little girl?”

“I, I understand!” you wailed, trying to control your breathing enough so you wouldn't choke on your words, or your sobs. You were in pain, and you wanted this spanking to end desperately. You were certain you would never sit without squirming ever again.

“You will apologize to Pietro and Clint for your rudeness, and you will behave yourself from now on.”

You nodded your head wildly, not sure if you would be able to handle speaking. Initially, you couldn't even recognize when Bucky had stopped spanking you. You were far too concerned with praying that it would end, that you didn't notice it _had_ ended, as silly as that sounded. It wasn't until you felt something rubbing against your sore bottom, and your back, when you realized it was over: Bucky's hands, once lighting a fire in your rear, were now trying to ease a small portion of the flame out and provide comfort to the tension in your back.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmured. His voice was less stern and more recognizable as _your_ _Bucky_ than _Sergeant_ _Barnes_. “We're all done here. Shhh, it's okay...”

You quickly collapsed under a heightened amount of tears – a mixture of relief and tiredness and overall soreness – and it wasn't very long before you felt Bucky attempting to move you off of his lap. You quickly hoped he wouldn't follow Madame Potts' route, which was to give a small, brief hug, then send whomever had gotten spanked into the nearest corner to think, regardless of how hard they might be crying.

“Come here, Babydoll,” he purred, easing you carefully so you were sitting in his lap instead of over it, with you sitting astride on his lap. You immediately clutched onto his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your face into the crease of his shoulders. You tried to suppress the tiny nagging voice in the back of your mind (which sounded like a mixture of Madame Potts and Augustine) that warned sitting like that was unladylike, and you focused on Bucky's arms wrapped around yours: one around your waist, and the other stroking your hair and back. Your bottom was definitely going to be sore for a while, but you found it relatively easy to ignore when Bucky was pressing tender kisses to the crown of your head and cuddling you so closely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, we have the spanking! More mischief is on the way. I have a great deal of ideas bouncing around in my head for chapters - and two lovely, extremely long chapters planned for the second half of the mischief roller coaster, as a thank you for your collective patience - and I can't wait to share them with you guys, once I have the time to write. I love you all for sticking with me, and this fic, for so long; I can't thank you guys enough.


	16. March 31, 1907 - Easter

When Laura and Wanda arrived at the church service without Dr. Barton or Pietro, the only sort of explanation Mrs. Barton offered to the sea of church goers was, _“Pietro won't be joining us this afternoon. Clint's watching over him.”_

Luckily for the Bartons, everyone assumed that Pietro must have caught Wanda's cold, and Clint – as a Companion doctor, and the head of the household – was staying behind to ensure his son's health. You, of course, were among the handful who knew the truth. After realizing how much trouble his son had caused the day before, Clint had taken a hairbrush to Pietro's backside and banned him from attending the Easter festival. (However, only you and Pietro knew about his lies, so there was still a great deal of unpleasantness unaccounted for, but you weren't about to spoil _Easter_ of all things by mentioning it.)

Pietro had appeared quite alright with being barred from the festival. However, he'd thrown a horrendous tantrum when Clint announced that Wanda – who had _just_ gotten over her cold – was allowed to go. It was obvious that Pietro had assumed his twin would stay with him at the house... which was probably part of the reason why Clint ushered her out, with a heavier-than-necessary coat and the firm orders to return home if she so much as sniffled.

“ _Men are always so dramatic,”_ Laura had muttered as she, Wanda, you, and Natasha clamored into the carriage that morning – though you'd sat down with a wince. None of them pointed it out, thankfully, but Natasha did give your hand a gentle squeeze.

The Easter service itself was dreadfully boring and monotonous; the resurrection, the stone being rolled away, and a warning to younger children to remain faithful. The same Easter sermons you'd heard since you were a small child. However, unlike the usual service, Wanda asked your Keepers if you could sit with her and Laura in separate row, and you'd happily jumped at the offer. You loved Bucky and Steve, honest; but you were still quite unsettled from the day before. Everyone in your family probably still was.

Supper the previous night – with everyone coming together in your Keepers' house – had been nearly a disaster. Both you and Pietro were pouting and squirming in your seats, after making brief and obviously untruthful apologies. The adults attempted to avoid mentioning the great elephant in the room, before giving up any sense of propriety altogether.

“ _Don't worry, Steve,”_ Clint had eventually said, taking note of the unwavering disgruntled expression on your Captain's face. _“A lot of Companions develop a case of the grumps after their first spanking. It's nothing unusual.”_ Your face had turned quite pink at his comment. If the doctor hadn't been sitting so far away, you would have tried to stomp his foot underneath the dining table. Clint's comment did nothing to ease the tension in the room; in fact, it seemed to make Steve more stoic and rigid than before.

Your Captain became incensed after returning from town. You'd _finally_ fallen asleep after your spanking (in Bucky's lap, of all places), and once you woke up, your Sergeant had taken it upon himself to watch you like a hawk. It had involved him catching up with his work, while you practices needlepoint in the same room (despite your strong desire to simply embroider swear words into the pattern, regardless of the consequences). Bucky was honest with the afternoon's naughty events, and you were forced to endure listening to Bucky's explanation. Steve's face slowly turned as red as an apple's, and you wanted to dive underneath the couch cushions. You could practically see steam pouring out of Steve's ears, and you worried that he would spank you as well.

Rather than allowing you the luxury of hiding, Steve planted himself in front of your chair, forced you to stand, and scolded you for a solid twenty minutes. You weren't sure what was worse: the sheer coldness in Steve's blue eyes of which you'd never witnessed before, or how blurry your own eyesight became as the lecture progressed. You felt awful and defenseless. You couldn't tell the truth without dragging your own fears and insecurities forward, so you merely stood and took the scolding.

Still, you broke down weeping when Steve eventually said, _“My Companion knows how to behave better than this,”_ and his voice was no louder than his normal speaking tone. Not once had he raised his voice; that made it all worse. At least Bucky requested that Steve stop once the tears started to roll down your face, and while your Captain relented, he still ushered you into a nearby corner to think until supper.

No hug. No cuddle. No reassurance came from either of them. You remained in the corner until supper; ate dinner with your Keepers, Natasha, and the Bartons; then you'd been sent up to your room for an early bedtime. Even in a great house full of people, you had never felt so alone.

**~ * ~**

At the end of the Easter service, many of the elderly women in the congregation flocked towards your Keepers. Seeing Steve and Bucky (who _always_ came to church in their best suits) was a rare treat for them, and you were glad to be free from them for a while. Especially since being away meant being closer to Wanda, who was all-too-willing to escort you onto the sprawling lawn where her mother – and many other women of the church – were setting up the final touches for the Easter festival.

There were already several tables laid out of plates, bowls, cutlery, and ceramic casserole dishes. Mountains of finger sandwiches with different meats and vegetable textures: ham, chicken, turkey, egg salad, chicken salad, on and on. Bowls of fruit salad, potato salad, pasta salad, and garden salads. Hard-boiled eggs that were dyed different colors (but still safe to eat). Pink and yellow lemonade. Above all else, there was a table specifically dedicated to desserts. Brownies lathered in frosting. Cupcakes. Large cakes in the shape of eggs. Small chocolates. Plates of cookies in different flavors. Lemon bars. Caramels. Peppermint sticks.

The fifteen or so children in the congregation were purposefully eyeing a large cake – shaped like a rabbit, towering a foot and a half tall, almost like a miniature spring wedding cake. You knew of no other Companions in the church, aside from the twins; you weren't in the mood to feign politeness towards the mass of elderly women, and you saw no reason in playing any of the games meant for the children (especially since the oldest of the bunch appeared no older than twelve). Egg rolls, egg hunts, croquet, bean bag toss...

As Laura Barton and several other mothers ushered the children away from the table of treats, Wanda gingerly took your hand and guided you towards an iron-wrought bench set underneath a large, shady tree. It gave you both a good view of the festivities, without removing you from the eyesight of either of your Keepers, while also allowing you two a decent amount of privacy.

You desperately missed Wanda since Christmas. Yes, you'd seen her periodically, but between the schedules of two families, those instances had been rare or brief. Writing constant letters to each other had softened the blow somewhat, but not enough: you both shared everything with each other. In February, you'd been allowed a rare sleepover at the Bartons' home, and the two of you huddled close to a fire, underneath some goose feather blankets, and talked about everything and nothing for hours.

She told you about her life in Russia, prior to becoming one of the Bartons' Companions. You talked about your biological family, and the squallor you'd lived in before entering the Howard Stark House; how, sometimes, you still missed your family desperately, even though you were glad to be a Companion. Silly stories. Secrets. Pranks she and Pietro had played on their parents; the New York private academy they had attended, instead of being given a private tutor. The mischief you'd gotten into at the Companion House.

It was nice being around someone your own age – who liked you. You'd had looked forward to the holiday for that. Her becoming ill had dampened everyone's mood.

Wanda was one of those people who could read another's emotions well. She could sense something was off, regardless of how much you hide it, and she calmly waited for the children's games to begin before giving your hand a tender squeeze.

“Pietro told me what happened yesterday. What actually happened. I'm sorry he said those things.”

“H-He told you? How did — ?”

“I twisted his arm until it turned pink. He's a bit of a screamer.” She gave your hand a tender squeeze. “You can tell me anything – or nothing, if that is what you prefer. I can keep any secret that you'd like for me to.”

It had taken a lot of courage, but you told her.

You began with Christmas. The initial anxiety towards meeting new family members, in an unfamiliar environment, especially in a house that was far more bourgeois than what you had grown up in. (You had, at that time, only truly started to become accustomed to your new home in Brooklyn.) The shock of Christmas day, and the joy of celebrating, although you had felt uncomfortable with so much money being spent on you. You still did, to be honest; you tried desperately to avoid thinking about the price tag attached to your wardrobe, the playroom and the bedroom, the houses in Brooklyn and Westchester. You knew both Bucky and Steve worked hard for their wealth, but you didn't want to become spoiled.

“Christmas _is_ the time for spoiling, _kukla_ ,” Wanda teased softly, then she grew more serious. “But I understand. Pietro and I struggled for a few years, and -”

“Years?”

She nodded. “I talked to Papa about it, and he helped me. Why have you not gone to Uncle Steve or Uncle James about it?”

“I...” you sighed, then you admitted carefully,” I, I don't know my place, I suppose, or if I can ask...”

“I'm afraid I don't understand,” Wanda said sheepishly.

“If I tell you,” you practically whispered, ignoring the sounds of children shouting and playing nearby, “you mustn't tell anyone.”

Wanda made an X over her heart with her fingers. “I promise.”

“I... I worry sometimes, and... and I know my Keepers love me, but I. I can't tell _how_ sometimes. I'm grateful they're taking care of me. I will _never_ stop being grateful. I have a beautiful home and a family and too many clothes to think of,” you joked, and she gave your hand a small squeeze. “And I want to return their love, but... I don't know if they'll want me to, and, and I don't know if they will still love me if I'm wrong.”

After checking to make sure no children – or anybody, really – were around, you admitted that you had seen them together, and you hadn't been offended by it, but you'd been confused when they had kissed you on Christmas as well, without any sort of reservation. Surely someone who was using a Companion as a shield wouldn't do that, would they? But they had not prompted it since either. You had no solid idea of your place: you were not their child, nor did you want to be. You were neither of their wives, and you knew they did not want a wife. You were a Companion... but not in public, really.

Beyond Wanda, you had so few friends. Angie was a close friend, but she went to work each day and spent all of her time with Peggy. Dr. Banner was your tutor, and while he was friendly, you knew he only came to the house thrice a week because your Keepers paid him to. You had started to exchange letters with Samantha after Christmas, once you found a solid routine and settled in properly, but that was not the same as seeing her shiny face every day. You rarely left the estate with an escort, if you left at all. Bucky and Steve never took you out of the house; they usually only left to fetch you from the park. Any other time, you left with Natasha.

And all of these nagging feelings of confusion had been whispering in the back of your mind for several months, but you had been able to shut them in a box and avoid opening it until now – all thanks to Pietro. You felt like a shield. And the lack of comfort at your naughtiness, provoked as it was, increased those feelings.

Would your Keepers only like you as long as you fit into their idyllic view of you, as a Companion?

“I am afraid,” you admitted to a teary-eyed Wanda. She could practically sense the fear radiating off of you. “I love my family so much. I, I don't want things to be different now that – I don't want to lose -”

“Things will be put right, I promise,” Wanda said firmly, giving your hands a solid squeeze. “I will do all that I can to help.”

**~ * ~**

“So, Uncle Steve was blaming himself?”

After her mother had mother-henned the youngest Companion away towards the refreshment table (“You're too thin, dear!”), Wanda had managed to sneak herself away to Natasha, who had perched herself delicately on a garden stool near one of the emptiest tables. Wanda hated betraying her friend's trust, but this was something that needed to be fixed immediately, and Natasha knew everything.

“Steve has a tendency to blame himself for any little thing, especially if they are beyond his control,” Natasha explained calmly, then she took a sip of lemonade. “He's rather self-deprecating.”

“She thought they were withholding affection,” Wanda murmured. “Because of what happened with Pietro yesterday.”

Natasha scoffed. “They would never. I know Steve was trying to hold his tongue because he either dotes or scolds, and Bucky didn't want to make himself look soft.”

“Oh.”

The redhead took notice of Wanda's concern and asked, “Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?”

Wanda played with her fingers for a moment. “I. I promised not to tell.”

“Is this as bad as the squirrel?”

When Pietro and Wanda were sixteen, they had discovered Dr. Barton's greatest fears: squirrels. It was an utterly irrational fear, but it was a genuine one for the doctor. So, to test it, Pietro had sneaked a squirrel into the attic and allowed it to run rampant for several hours. Laura Barton had to usher the darling creature out the front door, and Wanda – knowing very well that her brother was the cause – lied and said the squirrel had crawled in through her window. The twins had only admitted what actually occurred several months later, and Dr. Barton had _not_ been pleased by their deception.

“Yes, but in a different way,” Wanda phrased carefully.

Natasha carefully took one off Wanda's hands in her own. “You can tell me anything, sweet girl, and I will keep it a secret if I'm able.”

**~ * ~**

“Goddammit,” was the only thing Bucky could think of saying.

Nearing eleven in the evening, he, Steve, and Natasha sat quietly in the parlor, the fire place having gone out hours before; the boys sipped brandy and Natasha had an empty glass of what had been wine, as they reviewed the events of the last 48 hours. Steve had sat, still as a statue, with his head in his hands, for the past ten minutes. Natasha, for once, appeared guilty for relaying the information she had collected. Bucky just wanted to drink down to the bottom of the rum bottle in his office, reservation for special occasions be damned.

“She thinks we don't love her?” Steve murmured, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

“No, she knows you love her,” Natasha soothed carefully. “She is just confused about her role in the family.”

“She's our Companion,” Bucky said.

“And I was one too. The twins are as well. Their role with the Bartons is separate from mine, as mine is from hers.” Natasha did her best to keep her voice as calm as possible. She didn't want to make either Keeper feel guilty for the obvious lack of communication that had occurred between the three of them. “You don't want a child, nor a simple friend. You want a platonic lover, yes?”

Bucky and Steve nodded, then Steve asked quietly, “What if it changed, in the future?”

“Then you talk to her when it comes, instead of allowing her to doubt her value in our family.” Natasha gave Bucky's shoulder a firm grip. “Do you not remember when that happened to me, James? It was awful, but our parents talked to me. You two are to protect her, even if it's from her own self doubt.”

Natasha was correct. One's self doubt could hurt worse than any physical injury. After living with the Barnes for nearly three years, Natasha – one afternoon – had burst into a fury of tears and demanded to know, _“How could you possibly love me?”_ from her parents and Bucky. It had been an incredibly difficult day for all of them, but they'd become much closer afterwords.

“Is there anything else we ought to know?” Steve asked.

“Not that I'm aware of,” Natasha said with a shake of her head.

“We'll talk to her first thing tomorrow,” Bucky said.

“No, you'll talk to her after the rally,” Natasha interjected. “Emma Goldman is speaking. You don't know how many strings I had to pull to get her, and our little doll shouldn't miss that for the world.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize it's rather repetitive, but I wanted to make sure everyone understands how conflicted Babydoll feels about her situation before more shit hits the fan. Also, halfway through, my muse gave me the middle finger and only returned after I listened to “Ragtime” on repeat for two days straight. It's a wonderful musical of this period; I highly recommend it. 
> 
> During Easter of this time, churches would host festivals where the focus was on Jesus – and eggs. Eggs were painted, dyed, enameled, bejeweled and tied with ribbon. Eggs from Switzerland were painted and often had something delicate inside (such as a bottle of perfume). French eggs were “covered with every conceivable material, stylishly trimmed with ribbons, artificial flowers, birds, and butterflies” (and usually full of chocolates).


	17. April 1, 1907

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank everyone for sending me lovely comments during my temporary adulting-hiatus (*cat hisses and pandemonium*), but I am back, and I'm doing well now! I have several future chapters plotted out, and while I'm not sure when the next chapter will drop, it'll be much sooner than this one. 
> 
> (And the history lesson at the end of the chapter is a long one. Buckle up kids!)

The women's rally was in full swing by the time Laura, Wanda, Natasha, and Babydoll arrived. It was only about 9:30 in the morning or so, but they were by no means alone. A great flock of women were already gathered in the large Westchester park, with a soapbox stage and podium in the middle of it all.

Women of many socioeconomic backgrounds were in attendance – Babydoll could see that based on their clothing – but, to her surprise, every woman that she saw was white. Perhaps she had noticed because New York City was a great melting pot of race and culture – and the Howard Stark Companion House was one of ten non-segregated Houses in the east coast. In the tenement home prior to becoming a Companion, her neighbors had been black, Irish, Jewish, and Chinese – all on the same floor. Other floors, above and below, had people from Japan, descendants from runaway slaves, Polish and Russian immigrants, people who spoke many different languages and had many different skin colors. It was a fantastic thing, if people could look past how dirty and rundown the building itself was. Even back in the city, though she wasn't sure who her neighbors were, she often saw men and women of color when she left the house.

Still, since on one else commented on it, she kept silent. For a little while. She later asked Natasha about it on the carriage ride back to the house. The only response she received was a sigh and Natasha's soft explanation,

“ _Most of the women in Westchester – who were able to come – are white, because this town is predominantly white, precious. And, unfortunately, a lot of women on the council are only concerned about the white vote. It's the same in New York, under Susan B. Anthony. They don't want to concern themselves with the votes of people who aren't white, because they don't want to make voting an issue about race.”_

“ _But that's not right! Everyone ought to be able to vote, even if they're not white.”_

“ _Especially if they aren't,”_ Wanda piped up, and Laura gave her daughter's hand a squeeze.

“ _I'm glad both of you believe that,”_ Laura said. _“It makes me proud to hear that.”_

“ _And I as well,”_ Natasha tacked on, before the issue was dropped.

The women who were in attendance were at work. Painting large signs on sticks. Handing out pins for a nickle. Conversing and sharing ideas, and logistics for the upcoming march.

“Before you even ask,” Laura said, when she saw Laura's demeanor brighten at the information signs about the afternoon, “We are not attending the march today.”

“Ohh, but why Mama?” Wanda pouted.

“Because I would like to wait until the next march in New York,” Laura said calmly, giving her daughter's hand a squeeze. “It will be safe when we're in a place we're more familiar with.”

“And Clint said he would come too,” Natasha said, “as well as Angie and Peggy.”

“And Steve and Bucky are on their last few months of probation with the Companion House. Babydoll wouldn't be allowed to go today.”

“I forgot about that,” Wanda said softly.

“Is it safe for me to be here now?” Babydoll asked. Despite the turmoil of the past few days, she didn't want to be taken away from her family.

“Yes, precious,” Natasha said, giving her a small cuddle. “I'll protect you. You'll be alright.”

Babydoll and Wanda each purchased a pin, which bore VOTES FOR WOMEN on top of a purple and white background. Natasha purchased a large, and rather scary, hat pin for herself. Women were selling sweets for pennies, as well as glasses of lemonade; the profits would be donated to the cause. There was also a table where regular donations could be made: there was a line of women, handing small cash donations or writing checks from their husband's accounts.

“I'll be right back,” Babydoll told Natasha, who appeared slightly confused until she noticed the donation station. Then Natasha carefully let go of the Companion's hand, and she scurried over. She wanted to do this alone. Partially because she didn't want the women at the booth thinking that Natasha – or anybody – was coercing her into giving her pocket change to the cause.

More so, however, because she wasn't donating just her pocket change. Shortly after the New Year, her Keepers had allowed her to earn an 'allowance' (75 cents a week) for maintaining good grades with her studies and for behaving, and between January until the present, $7.63 remained in her jar. Some weeks, she hadn't kept up with her studies (Dr. Banner knew she was intelligent and demanded that of her in the classroom), while some days, she had occasionally found pennies in the street.

But that wasn't the only money she had on her person. Early that morning, while Wanda was getting dressed, she had snuck into Pietro's room (he'd been asleep), carefully removed all of the money from _his_ coin jar (and it had been quite a lot), then scampered out.

Was it stealing? Yes.

Did Babydoll know better than to do so? Absolutely, especially since it was clear that Pietro had been saving up for quite some time.

Did she feel bad for it? Only slightly. She knew Pietro would be angry, and she was fine with that. She was angry too. _He ought to know what it feels like to be hurt so,_ she'd told herself that morning. But a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her that Steve and Bucky would be disappointed in her poor behavior.

 _If my Keepers want a perfectly behaved Companion for a shield,_ she'd fought back on her conscious, _then they have another thing coming._

**~ * ~**

At eleven o'clock, the group made its way over towards the stage. Natasha, along with several others, would be speaking. The crowd continued to grow in number as time passed, and to Babydoll's surprise, there were a few men in the crowd as well.

“Ladies -” Natasha's voice was thunderous, far louder than anything you'd ever heard before. There was no microphone on the stage; she was just commanding everyone's attention, and it worked. She immediately silenced the chatter of the crowd. “It must be done. The right to vote is something we've been denied for far too long. It is prudent and necessary. It is not up for debate. We must be treated as equally as our male counterparts, and that means _all_ women – regardless of how much wealth we might have, regardless of our _race_ – _all_ women should be able to vote. And this includes Companions as well.”

The more Natasha spoke, the prouder of her you became. She spoke and carried herself like the Queens of old. A ferocious goddess, bent on protection for all Companions and women. She was graceful but assertive. She was warm and demanding. She was _Natasha._ There was something about the whole affair that caused little butterflies to start flapping around in Babydoll's stomach, and it wasn't from nervousness either.

Why was she feeling this way?

Following Natasha, there were several other women who spoke. They were passionate, but there was something off-putting about their speeches – especially after one woman stated that a Companion's vote was as useless as a nickel in the gutter. That stung quite a lot; Wanda, if her expression gave anything away, had a similar sentiment.

It was worth it, however, to hear Emma Goldman speak. She was the final woman to give a speech, and she was obviously ready for it. Babydoll could practically see her eyes turning into daggers at some of the remarks the previous speakers had made. Her words had a harsh bite to them – a stubbornness and an unrelinquishing fierceness that spoke uncomfortable but necessary truths. Truths that a poor person knew all too well, but that a white woman of privilege might wish to disregard. She didn't talk about the vote. She didn't talk about Companions or helping your fellow man or anything the previous speakers stated.

Emma Goldman spoke of anarchy, and every word was nothing short of captivating.

**~ * ~**

The carriage ride back to the Westchester estate was so lively and energetic, Babydoll had forgotten the great naughtiness that she had done. Laura Barton told the girls several riddles – which grew more silly as time went on – and Natasha allowed Babydoll to snuggle up to her, giving the younger Companion's hands gentle squeezes each time they bumped over a hole in the road.

However, when they arrived home, shortly after one o'clock, it all came crashing to a halt. Babydoll trailed behind the other women into the house, only to see her Keepers, Dr. Barton, and Pietro, all of whom looked rather disgruntled. Pietro's eyes actually narrowed when she came into the living area.

“Who passed?” Natasha inquired, seating herself nearby, before Steve shook his head.

“Nobody's died,” he said. The grim expression on his face never wavered, nor did Bucky's. This was not good. This wasn't good at all.

“After you ladies left this morning,” Dr. Barton spoke, his normally stern face looking more severe than Babydoll had ever seen, “Pietro brought it to my attention that his money jar was empty. Normally, this wouldn't worry me, but I know he's been saving everything for the past few months, and I saw it myself yesterday, when it was almost full. There would have easily been twenty-five dollars in it.”

According to the receipt that the women at the donation booth had given Babydoll, for tax purposes, Pietro's money jar had actually held $28.35, once her own contribution had been subtracted. But she kept quiet.

“Does anybody know what happened to it?”

A heavy silence lingered in the living room for several moments. Not once did Pietro's moody gaze move from Babydoll's, and she could feel a deep coldness sweep up her spine and flow to every edge of her body. She forced herself to harden her emotions as she spoke,

“Yes.”

“Then where is it?” Pietro asked.

“I took it,” she replied, and despite trying to remain stoic about the whole thing, she could still feel her own heart breaking at her Keeper's stern expressions.

“You stole it from Pietro?” Steve said, his tone already settling into lecture mode, and Babydoll was not willing to go through another Captain lecture. Not for anybody, and especially not for stupid Pietro Maximoff.

“Yes, and I donated it to the Suffragists today because _you_ hate them —” She couldn't help but point directly at Pietro, who actually looked slightly frightened by her boldness, “—and I hate _you_ , and if my Keepers are just using me as a shield and they don't love me, then I don't have to be nice to you at all!”

By the end of her tirade, every person in the room was shocked, but before someone could question the youngest Companion further, Babydoll bolted out of the room and up the stairs, not even stopping when she heard her name – her actual name – being called. Once the door to her bedroom slammed shut, Clint spoke up:

“What in the hell was that about?”

“Clint -!” Laura started to chide, before Wanda interrupted.

“She thinks Uncle James and Uncle Steve don't love her because Pietro made things up and was cruel to her.”

It took several brief seconds for that to sink in – for everyone – before Clint turned towards his son, who was appeared far less confident than he had before.

“What?!”

“I... I, sort of... lied about what we had been fighting about, the other day,” Pietro mumbled.

Clint's expression became even more thunderous. “You lied to me? You looked me in the eyes, and you lied to me about why the two of you were fighting like animals?! You have exactly five seconds to speak up and explain yourself properly, before I cut a switch from outside.”

The threat helped Pietro find his tongue. If he were a cat, his fur would have stood on end, and he would have hissed. “Why does she even have to be here?” he snapped, glaring at both Steve and Bucky. “Our family was perfect before!”

“Pietro Erik Maximoff, how _dare_ you act so spoiled and selfish!” Laura practically roared, beating her husband to whatever sort of scolding the doctor had in store for his son. Pietro immediately flinched at his mother's tone, but for him, it only got worse from there. “You _know_ better than to act so poorly towards _anybody_ , especially your family!” She then broke off into a rapid stream of Russian, which made Pietro flush red from embarrassment and shame, before he tried to squirm away from his mother as she grabbed his ear.

“Owww!”

“I apologize for the hassle,” she said, not relinquishing her son's ear while she turned towards Bucky and Steve. “I assure you. It will be fixed.” Then she started towards the front door, pulling her son along the way, while Wanda practically glued herself into her father's side.

“We'll be back in time for supper,” Clint said in a low tone. “And if nothing else, Pietro will be back tomorrow morning with several apologies.”

“Our Companion will as well,” Steve said, in a slightly dejected voice, and Clint gave both men a nod before leaving with his daughter.

**~ * ~**

Upstairs, Babydoll was curled in a ball, crying her anguish into a pillow. The bedroom – now designated as her own, whenever they came to Westchester – had been repainted and the furniture rearranged, so it held a more pleasant and tender atmosphere than previously. But that did not aid her currently. She just felt so utterly _exhausted_. It had been tiring, hiding the deceit and lies from her Keepers, but now it was out in the open. What could she do now?

What if they didn't want her anymore? The thought off that made her cry even more. Regardless of the social and potential political hot water it would land Steven and Bucky in for rejecting their Companion, it would also mean returning to the Companion House. It would mean losing her family.

A sudden knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts, and she couldn't help but flinch when the door opened.

“Little One?”

“Go away,” she sniffles, but Steve entered anyway, followed by Bucky, who closed the door quietly.

“We just came to talk, Babydoll,” Bucky said as Steve sat at the end of the bed. Bucky followed suit, and they calmly waited as their Companion removed her teary face from her pillow and sat upright.

“Babydoll, Pietro admitted that he had lied to his parents about what your fight way about,” Bucky started softly, though he left out how the male Companion was ratted out by his twin.

A few more tears slipped down her face, but she remained silent.

“We'd like to hear what happened from you,” the Sergeant added on.

“You're just going to punish me regardless,” she pouted.

“We won't punish you for being honest,” said Steve, “but mind your tone, Little One.”

She sniffed and wiped at her face, before she tearfully admitted, “We were playing croquet, an-and I asked him why he hated me, and -”

“Babydoll, Pietro doesn't hate you -”

“Yes, he does!” she interruped, “He said so! H-He said he didn't th-think I ought to be ar-around because I-I'm just a sh-shield so people don't get sus-suspicious a-about you both b-b-being tog-together, and I was af-afraid...”

She collapsed under a wave of tears, which only grew when Steve finished her thought: “You were afraid he was right?”

Without any sort of preamble, Bucky carefully scooped their Companion into his lap, then adjusted himself so she was closer to the two of them, rather than keeping her entirely to himself. He kissed the crown of her head when she clutched onto him, and he murmured her name carefully before adding,

“You are our Companion, and we love you dearly. Nothing – especially someone's _opinion_ – can change that. We _chose_ you, and neither of us have regretted it for even a second.”

“Bucky and I are not using you as a shield,” Steve added, “and if people are suspicious, then neither of us are bothered by it.”

That was only half-true. Both men wished they would flaunt their relationship publicly, but the ramifications of such an act were too detrimental to think of. They could lose their businesses. They could be slandered in papers or assaulted. Natasha or their Companion could be attacked. They could be sent to an institution. It was awful to think about. As far as they knew, outside of the small circle of people who did know, no one in the public was suspicious, but that didn't keep them from keeping it careful.

“You are our Little One and our Babydoll and Natasha's precious one. You are important to us. I'm so sorry if we didn't make that clear before,” Steve finished, giving one of her hands a gentle squeeze.

“You did,” she murmured, trying to collect herself. Having Bucky hold her so tenderly was helping significantly. “I just, I, I've read about when th-that happens, when a Keeper does _that_ , that they -”

“I know,” Steve said sadly. He knew all too well. It wasn't common for a Keeper to get rid of their Companion, or to reject them, but it did crop up on occasion, and as a lawyer, he'd been taught about it during university. While Rogers & Carter had been blessed enough to never deal with that sort of case, several of Steve's fellow associate's were not so lucky. Those cases became ugly rather quickly, for obvious reasons. A lack of emotional or physical affection, only to be preoccupied by gifts – at best. The worst – Steve didn't like imagining.

“An-And I, I didn't think of that ri-right away, but wh-when Pietro said that, I...” Babydoll collapsed into a puddle of more tears, and she was gently passed from Bucky's lap into Steve's. Both men gave her some time for her to work through her emotions, with Steve cuddling her close and Bucky rubbing her back with his knuckles. Eventually, once the storm had mostly passed, Bucky murmured,

“Babydoll, I'm going to share something with you – something very private, and it's to remain between the three of us. Do you understand?”

She nodded, carefully wiping the tear stains from her cheeks, as Steve gingerly moved the stray hairs out of her face.

“Pietro, as much as we love him, doesn't handle change particularly well. Any sort of change, unless it's to his direct benefit, and sometimes, he is still unhappy with it,” Bucky explained carefully. Everything he was saying was true, but he still wanted to remain tactful. “He likes for things to stay as they are, and when it doesn't, he can act jealous or spoiled or rude. His behavior and his actions are not your fault, especially since they were lies.”

It was one thing for Wanda to explain her brother's poor attitude, and it was another for Bucky to do so. Coming from her Keeper, it held a greater weight because, while a twin might attempt to downplay or excuse their sibling's behavior, another adult would offer a different and perhaps a less biased perspective. She felt relieved when her Sergeant said that.

“If 'm not a shield, then why don't we all go out in public?” Babydoll asked softly. Her voice was no longer melancholy, though she was still a little concerned.

Steve sighed. “I'll be honest, Little One. The two of us wanted to play it safe during our probationary period. Madame Potts warned us how mischievous our Companion could be -” The Captain's voice became playful as he gently tickled her sides, and she couldn't help but squirm under it, “- and we wanted to do our best to keep your from harm.”

“We also weren't quite ready to share you with the world yet, Babydoll,” Bucky said.

This was about 90 percent true. The other ten relied, once again, upon discretion. While it was by no means illegal for two people to be Keepers over a sole Companions, it was – more often than not – members of the opposite sex. And in a case such as Bucky's and Steve's, two male “bachelors” with no familiar relations, it could be frowned upon if it went too public.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly feeling quite guilty for not trusting them. “I'm sorry.”

“The three of us should have talked about this earlier,” Bucky said, “You don't need to apologize for us being confused and hurt by our lack of communication.”

“However,” Steve replied, and his tone had the same timbre of an incoming lecture, “even with everything going on, you are still in control of your own actions, just like Pietro is. And you _know_ better than to steal from anyone, especially family, and you know better than to _break the law_ to spite someone.”

The frown on Steve's face was a mighty one, and Babydoll hid her face against the Captain's chest to avoid looking at it.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky said, his own tone clearly saying _Look at me_ , and their Companion obeyed. “We love you dearly. We can't say that enough. And we're still going to do our best to protect you, even from your own mischief, but we don't want you to forget that it comes from a good place. Alright?”

She nodded, and the Sergeant pecked her forehead softly, then clasped Steve's shoulder in a squeeze before leaving the bedroom.

**~ * ~**

A few hours later, after another river of tears and a sore bottom, Babydoll was allowed to stay on the porch of the house to wait for the Bartons to come over. (She'd managed to swipe a cushion from one of the couches, and she tried to adjust herself accordingly.) The spanking from Steve, if possible, had been worse than the one from Bucky, but at least she hadn't been given a patented Captain lecture also. Instead, there had been plenty of cuddles afterwards, before she'd been gently coerced into taking a nap.

(At least, that's what she believed. In actuality, she'd fallen asleep shortly after being pulled into Steve's arms for a cuddle, and Steve – feeling rather guilty himself over the entire affair – had refused to let her go until Bucky came in twenty minutes later to make sure they were both alright.)

Both Steve and Bucky had explained, once she woke up, that she would need to repay Pietro the money that she'd stolen from them – meaning, of course, her allowance was further suspended until that bill was complete. She knew that was fair, even though it meant, at seventy-five cents a week, everything wouldn't be square until January of the next year. She knew arguing the point would be ridiculous, especially since she was already sore and repentant,

She would also need to apologize to Pietro, and knowing Dr. Barton as she did, he would likely make Pietro apologize as well.

Speaking of... From the house, she could see Pietro scampering out onto the Barton's porch, pouting heavily, before he saw her watching him. Then he looked really embarrassed, but to his credit, he shuffled over, his hands deep in his pockets.

“I. I wanted to apologize,” Pietro said, his voice soft, and unlike many robotic apologizes she'd received (and given) at the Companion House, Babydoll could hear the sincerity in Pietro's voice. “I said many cruel things to you, and I should not have. Uncle Steve and Uncle James are very happy to have you, and so is Aunt Natasha. I was worried that, because they are so happy now, that it meant they were unhappy before, when it was only Wanda and myself.”

“They all still love you,” she said, and he nodded.

“I know that now. It was just a different sort of happy before. I am sorry.”

“I'm sorry too,” she said, “for stealing from you. I shouldn't have done that.”

“How did you get it without me noticing?”

“Wanda says you sleep deeply. She's right.”

Pietro groaned, and Babydoll giggled a little.

“How about next time, if we get into a fight, we don't keep tallies?” Pietro said, and Babydoll shook her head.

“I'd rather not fight you at all, if that's alright.”

He nodded. “That, I can handle. Truce?”

He stuck out his hand for her to shake, and she easily took it.

“Truce.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY HISTORY LESSON, BATMAN. (I originally wanted avoid talking about the racial and sexism issues of the time, because I want the fic to be as fluffy as possible, but I realized it's ridiculously important to avoid erasing history. So while some things I refuse to write - like making Sam Wilson or Rhodey servants - I don't want to be dishonest.)
> 
> During this time, women of any and all races had very few rights. They couldn't have their own bank accounts. While men, and young boys, could go out and work for money, many younger women either had to take menial jobs for money or had to “earn” money from their caretakers (popularized as an allowance, usually earned through lady-like behaviors). 
> 
> The popularized hat pin accessory - a long rod, often decorated with various fabrics or designs, meant to keep one's hat attached to the hair of the woman wearing it - was eventually banned in the 1910's. Why? Along with fashion, women were using it as a weapon against men who would attempt to harm them (and these sort of men saw it as a threat). 
> 
> Emma Goldman, an anarchist and extremely popular activist of the time, was well-known for stoking a lot of fires. She believed that, rather than gaining political power first, women ought to have more social/economical power to make themselves equal to men, and only then should they worry about political power (because it would naturally come along, once men saw women as equals). She also fought for the rights of the lower class, immigrants, sexual rights, and was one of the earliest pro-LGBT activists. She even got into a fight with a psychologist over why it was okay for Oscar Wilde to be gay. She always said what she wanted, when she wanted, regardless of whom she angered. (She's a hero of mine, if you can't guess. ;3)
> 
> A lot of people – mostly men, but some women as well – thought that women shouldn't vote. (A common joke was that, if women voted, they would “grow beards”.) Nonetheless, in 1920, “women” earned the right to vote – meaning that white women earned the right to vote. Many women of color weren't allowed to vote well into the 1940's, 1950's, and 1960's, and oftentimes were barred from registering because of their skin color, even though it was illegal for the board of registrars to do so. Prior to earning the right to vote, female activists would have rallies and stage marches to try and garner enough attention to earn the right to vote.
> 
> However, a lot of white female activists didn't care about women of color (or any people of color) voting. While often idolized for her work in helping garner white women the right to vote, Susan B. Anthony – yes, THAT Susan B. Anthony – was also ridiculously racist. Two of her most famous quotes are as followed:
> 
> “I will cut off this right arm of mine before I will ever work or demand the ballot for the Negro and not the woman.” (When asked if, following the abolition of slavery, black men should be allowed to vote.)
> 
> “The old anti-slavery school says women must stand back and wait until the negroes shall be recognized. But we say, if you will not give the whole load of suffrage to the entire people, give it to the most intelligent first. If intelligence, justice, and morality are to have precedence in the government, let the question of the woman be brought up first and that of the negro last.” 
> 
> I should say, she wasn't the only one to have this type of attitude, but it wasn't uncommon for many white female activists to ignore women of color. Another famous incident involved Ida B. Wells (a famous anti-lynching activist out of Memphis) who came to a rally, and was told by Alice Paul, an associate of Anthony's, to march in the back - or, preferably, on another day, because they didn't want to make women voting into a racial issue. Yikes.


	18. April - early March, 1907

Once the Rogers-Barnes family returned to Brooklyn, everything balanced back out into a resemblance of previous normalcy. Steve and Bucky returned to their respective work. Natasha kept herself entertained, for the most part, outside of the house with her duties on various committees. Babydoll resumed her studies with Dr. Banner, as well as entertaining herself outside or, when it rained, by trying her hand at stitching and sewing. (She was still nowhere near as good as Wanda, but she was certainly improving.) But once they all settled into some form of a routine, it also meant there could be allowances to break it. Obviously, some things could not be broken. The Sergeant and Captain still went to work on the weekdays – that much couldn't be changed – as were Dr. Banner's scheduled times for tutoring, but everything else was open-ended.

Bucky and Steve slowly started taking their Companion out of the house more often. Following a rather heartfelt discussion, cuddled around the fire under an enormous quilt with their Companion tucked in-between their arms, they had agreed that _publicly_ she was Bucky's Companion. It wasn't due to malice, but it instead came from a desire to keep Bucky's and Steve's relationship private. As a man with an enormous fortune, it would be expected for Bucky to have a Companion at some point, and while Steve was by no means poor, it would seem odd – from a public standpoint – for a lawyer to have a Companion while his tycoon best friend did not.

That didn't stop any of them from going out and doing things together. Bucky found an ice cream shop in Manhattan, and he brought Babydoll several times when Steve became bogged down under cases and paperwork. Steve continued to escort their Companion to the park near their house (and, to her embarrassment, would become very stern if he caught her trying to climb the trees – and he always caught her). On one special evening, all three of them got dolled up – no pun intended – to go to an opera. Babydoll had been enamored with the entire evening (so much so that she didn't notice when Bucky fell asleep in the first aria).

There had been a few occasions when Bucky brought her to his office. She brought her chemistry and mathematics homework from Dr. Banner, as well as _Othello_ , to entertain herself during Bucky's meetings, and her Sergeant introduced her to many of his business associates (who made her blush by complimenting Bucky on such a well-behaved Companion, as if she weren't standing beside him). Steve also brought her over to the law office, but she normally just spent time with Angie instead. Even while on the clock, Angie was great fun. Babydoll had become closer to Peggy Carter's Companion, thanks to the weekly or every-other-week meals they would share in the massive house. If Angie wasn't working, the two would walk all over and chatter about anything and everything under the sun, or Babydoll would help Angie with memorizing a monologue.

On the other hand, Peggy was always willing to tell her stories about Steve that made her Keeper blush. Babydoll didn't often get to see Peggy outside of the sparse dinners – she was very busy, and the little Companion didn't want to bother her – but she was even more amazing than anything that could be read about in the paper. She was driven and intelligent, never patronizing and would point out to Bucky or Steve – and sometimes both – if they were acting obnoxious. She was nothing short of a Queen in Babydoll's eyes (but she kept this to herself, because she didn't want to make Natasha potentially jealous).

Another relationship that had definitely been improving was Babydoll's and the twins' – with the entire Barton family, if one were honest. Admittedly, she had been rather nervous how Clint and Laura would treat her, following the rather nasty fight she and Pietro had gone through, but once the matter had been dealt with, it was as if it never occurred in the first place. They were both as welcoming as ever, and – upon realizing that their twins ought to spend more time with their “niece” - Wanda and Pietro made their way over to the mansion to visit. Many hours would be spent in the attic or outside, especially after Bucky installed a swing to the tree in the front lawn. Wanda proved to be exceptionally good at monopoly, regardless of whom she played again, while Pietro often played with the scooter. Both twins enjoyed playing with Black Panther, especially after explaining that their own cat – Hawkeye – was a stubborn and old cat.

“He doesn't play much anymore,” Wanda murmured sadly, before Pietro tacked on,

“He just wants to sit and be pet, and if you move him, he doesn't forgive you for days.”

After Pietro and she made up with one another, he slowly started to open up and act nicer. One afternoon, he had even treated both girls to ice cream cones! (It was two cents each, and she slipped two pennies into his back pocket when he wasn't looking, but it was still very kind.) It was a nice change of pace, versus the previous version of Pietro that she had dealt with.

However, there were certain things that she wished had stayed the same. And that was her relationship with Dr. Bruce Banner.

Dr. Banner wasn't a bad man, nor an angry one, nor would any sensible person describe him as such. When she originally met the physicist, in the middle of January, he had visited for dinner and, upon realizing that Babydoll would be his charge, asked her many questions about her previous schooling, her favorite subjects, what she enjoyed reading, so on and so forth. He had been very interesting to chat with, though he had struck her as being a rather nervous and shy fellow, doctorate or not. He also refused to treat her as if she were stupid, which she greatly appreciated.

When her lessons with him began, which were twice a week for a handful of hours (based upon Dr. Banner's schedule), his shyness had been rather apparent. He was a fair and good instructor – always ready for the inevitable questions that she would present at new topics and difficult lessons (and Bucky was correct: she was far better at remembering things like history and her music than biology and chemistry). He was also far too nervous to discipline her, though both Bucky and Steve had made it clear that Dr. Banner had liberty to do so.

“ _I don't want to hear any reports of naughtiness, Little One,”_ Steve had warned their Companion following her first lesson. _“Bucky and I both agree if you give Dr. Banner a difficult time, you'll wind up over one of our laps. Is that understood?”_

“ _Yes, sir.”_

Babydoll – as mischievous and cheeky as she tended to be towards her Keepers – did not behave that way in front of Dr. Banner... At least, not to begin with. She didn't want to frighten the poor man. She was polite and quiet, only asking questions when prompted or when truly confused, always turning in papers and work on time, and the two of them got along swimmingly, as Dr. Banner began to realize that being a private instructor for a Companion was, perhaps, less frightening than he originally anticipated.

But once the two of them settled into a routine, especially such a _boring_ routine of chemistry and biology and physics and such _boring_ topics (rather than exciting things like the newest music and the American Revolution and – well – music!), it wasn't particularly long before she started to act cheeky. Small comments that would've earned her a swat from Steve or Bucky were ignored. So was the annoying tapping of pencils and pens against the desk when she was thinking (which was quite frequently, because the work Dr. Banner gave her was equally boring and difficult). As was the soft tap-tap-tap of her heel occasionally kicking the foot of her own desk.

Surprisingly, however, the one thing Dr. Banner could not stand for – or rather, the behavior that broke the camel's back – was pouting. Perhaps Dr. Banner had been high-strung that morning, or perhaps Babydoll had, or maybe even both of them. Regardless of why, Dr. Banner had instructed her to work on some ridiculously difficult mathematics problem, and he caught her pouting over it. Then he called her name: her real name.

“ _You have shown nothing but a poor attitude the past few occasions I have been here, and I'm tired of it,”_ Dr. Banner had said, grabbing her wrist before – to her shock – sitting down behind his desk and ushering her over his lap. Luckily for her, he made no movement to push up her skirt or petticoat (which is what Steve or Bucky would have done), but he also gave her no moment to register what had happened. He simply started swatting her bottom and scolding immediately, _“You are going to behave yourself during our time together and focus, like you ought to, or you and I shall have a problem, young lady. Do you understand?”_

Under absolutely no circumstance would she admit this, but either Bruce was hitting ridiculously lightly – or his blows were highly muffled by her petticoats and skirt – and she could hardly feel the spanking. She could feel it, as one might feel a soft rap on the shoulder, but it was nowhere near painful, though the knowledge that she had pushed Dr. Banner far enough to actually spank her (or try to) was far more embarrassing than the punishment itself.

“ _Yes, sir, I understand!”_

And the spanking ceased at once, and Dr. Banner helped her to her feet, before immediately putting her nose into the nearest corner. _“Stay there,”_ was all he said, and she obeyed, before he exited the room. He was gone for about twenty minutes or so, before he returned and relieved her of the corner with a hug. They continued the lesson, and Dr. Banner gave her another small embrace before he left for the day.

That had been on the sixteenth of April, and since then, Dr. Banner had given her three more spankings – for being mouthy, forgetting to complete assignments, and for being mouthy _again_ – and each had gotten more uncomfortable than the rest. It still wasn't as painful as either Bucky's or Steve's spankings, but it now definitely hurt. And it didn't help that, whenever it occurred, one of her Keepers – usually Steve, but Bucky had the final time – would deliver a stern lecture and several well-placed smacks.

Oh, well. Life couldn't be perfect, but for some, it could definitely be close.

**~ * ~**

On the thirteenth of May, a Wednesday, shortly after three o'clock, there was a knock at the door – an unexpected visitor – and Augustine answered, ushering in Madame Potts into the Rogers-Barnes household. As both men were currently at work, Augustine ushered Madame Potts into the attic, where Babydoll was with the cat.

“Madame Potts,” the young Companion said, slightly confused by the sight of her previous House Madame. “Hello. What happened?”

“Nothing's wrong,” Madame Potts said as Augustine headed back downstairs. “I merely popped by for a check-in.”

“Steve and Bucky are at work.”

“I realize,” she said, easing herself into a nearby chair, and Babydoll followed suit. “I came only to speak with you.”

“Oh. You aren't taking me back, are you?”

“Of course not – unless, you wanted to come back?”

“No!” The Companion's immediate reply made Madame Potts laugh, and she blushed. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. I just have some questions for you.” At that, Madame Potts pulled a small notebook out of her purse, along with a pencil. There were many questions and answers that needed to be reported to S.H.I.E.L.D. about the well-being of this Companion, but many of them Pepper could answer without even asking Babydoll. After all, it was clear just by a glance that the house was well-kept, there was food put on the table every day, everything was clean, and – given how lavish the attic was decorated – she was clearly doted upon rather than ignored.

“How have you been feeling recently?”

Babydoll knew that something as simple as, _“Fine, thank you,”_ would be disregarded, so she answered, “I've been feeling well. No sort off sickness or bad feelings about anything.”

“And you've been spending time with your Keepers?”

The Companion nodded as the redhead took notes. “Yes, more now than ever.” And she found herself prattling on quite happily about what sort of things she and her Keepers had been up to. Madame Potts found it quite amusing to know that Sergeant Barnes, of all people, fell asleep at an opera.

“That is not the first time I've heard of a grown man falling asleep at an opera,” Madame Potts said, her expression clearly saying that she knew of a man who had done the same as well. “And it won't be the last... Now – and I do hate to ask this question – have you ever worried for your personal safety at all, since leaving the Howard Stark House?”

Babydoll shook her head. “No, ma'am.”

“That's wonderful to hear.”

“May I ask you a question?”

“Within reason, yes,” Madame Potts said, hoping she wasn't about to be asked something cheeky.

“Are you and Mr. Tony Stark still courting?”

The blush across the Madame's face couldn't be quite stopped, but it definitely answered Babydoll's question. “Yes, we are, and that's all I will say about that.” After all, it was barely enough to keep the girls in the Companion House to keep from gossiping when Tony had great bouquets of flowers or small presents delivered to the House.

“But I do have wonderful news, for you. This was my final scheduled check-in for you, and once this -” She held up her pad of paper, “- is sent in, then your Keepers will receive a letter from S.H.I.E.L.D, stating that the probationary period is over.” As unladylike as it was, Madame Potts couldn't find it in her heart to scold when the Companion practically launched herself at Madame Potts in a celebratory hug.

 


	19. May 13 - 26, 1907

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am THE WORST. (bangs head against desk)
> 
> I want to thank all of you deeply, from the bottom of my heart, for your patience and your exceptionally kind words ever since the beginning of this fic. And for putting up with my consistently inconsistent posting of chapters. Real life has been hectic – finding a full-time job has been a bust, so juggling several part-time jobs has been stressful – and I am glad that my muse has returned with a full force. I have several chapters planned out, so this fic will not end soon, but I am not going to promise an exact posting schedule, since I'm awful at keeping to it. 
> 
> And a special thank you to the following, who left wonderful words of encouragement and concern for my well-being on the previous little author's note chapter (and I'm sorry I couldn't respond to you all!). Ya'll are the greatest: n3rdybird, west_collins_is_my_spirit_animal_, VlietFooted, Stringgeek, Soldierspetangel, getminseoked, Beautiful_Aravis, Clenhian, m_ryuu, ZanellBlack, Dora, OshiBits, literarypeachtea, DontForgetAParachute, Cera, AvrilNexuKitten, it_it_bitter, Sisi, Arianne, Miggrator, Alexei, egfie, NobleHoney, and Washintonian. <3

When Angie brought in the day's mail, Steve immediately took notice of the strange letter among the bills and requests for aid. After all, a gold-colored letter demanded attention, and a gold-colored letter that was _scented_ demanded even more attention.

And Steve knew damn well who was arrogant enough to send a scented, golden letter to the office.

“I hate these sort of things,” Steve mumbled to himself, nevertheless opening _that_ letter first. To no one's surprise (especially with Angie peering over his shoulder to read the letter as well), it was even more extravagant on the inside. Dark and bold calligraphy explained that:

_Dr. Anthony Stark of Stark Industries_  
_requests the company of Captain Steven G. Rogers_  
_to the formal societal introduction_  
_of his heir and Companion_  
_Peter Benjamin Parker,_  
_on Sunday, May the twenty-sixth_  
_nineteen hundred and seven  
_ _at six o'clock._

_An answer is requested._

“You're required to go,” Angie reminded him softly.

“No, I'm not,” Steve replied kindly, putting the letter down on the corner of his desk. “I haven't gone to a Stark ball in three years.”

“Peggy already told him no,” Angie tacked on, and Steve almost swore. “In person, too... _Soooo_...”

Steve sighed. They both knew what that meant. Steve _was_ required to go: if nothing else, on behalf of the law firm. Curse his brief friendship with the late Howard Stark and the extravagant retainer Stark Industries paid them each year. Such was the life of millionaire mogul and all-around-nuisance Tony Stark: they had buried plenty of stories in the past ten or so years about his behaviors, stories of being deep in his cups or between whorehouse thighs, to avoid slander and shame to the name _Stark_ , but Steve definitely hoped that Tony had cleaned up his act.

For his own sake, and for the sake of his apparent heir and Companion. Was Tony Stark even fit to raise a Companion? He certainly had the money for it, but the maturity? Steve had gone to a few Stark parties in the past, but he hadn't physically seen Tony in about five years. The last party, Steve had gone long enough to shake hands and make business connections before getting the hell out as fast as possible.

If he was to represent the law firm, a few handshakes and get the hell out wouldn't be sufficient. He would need to stay for most of, if not the entire party. Damn. Steve hated going to these events alone, and he knew Natasha hated being dragged along as his plus-one, though she always bore it with good grace. He would hate to ask that of her —

Wait.

Steve had an idea.

**~ * ~**

“No, Steve.”

The Captain couldn't quite disguise his pout, nor his unhappy tone when he questioned his lover, “Why not?” After all, surely he ought to take his own Companion to a gala if he so wished! “She'll enjoy the party, Buck. I'm sure of it —”

“I know —”

“And Nat detests these events, even though she hides it.”

“She enjoys her lady luncheons enough.”

Steve shot Bucky a look. “Buck, I'm taking her.”

Without a word, Bucky's expression was sympathetic as he pulled out a letter from his inner jacket pocket. A letter identical to the one Steve received from Stark, and Steve let out a groan. Of course. _Of course!_

Stark Industries — after taking note of how profitable Bucky's business endeavors were — had invested a good amount of money into his third, fourth, and fifth factories. In turn, Bucky had invested into Stark's business: specifically, into the production of fireworks and other forms of “harmless weaponry” (as Stark referred to it). Hell, the harmless wooden cork-guns produced in Bucky's factories were referred to as _Stark Poppers_ (something which Tony had found amusing, to everyone's surprise). It was a strange business relationship, but they both made money off of it and both men treated the other with respect, so Steve found no reason to complain.

Well, except now. As a “business partner” for Stark Industries, Bucky would've been asked to come — and as their Companion's public Keeper (which, yes, Steve knew they all had consented to), she would be expected to attend with Bucky.

_Damn_.

“You can always tag along with us, Stevie,” Bucky tried to soothe. After all, Bucky knew quite well that large parties — especially parties where he couldn't stay attached to Bucky's hip — made Steve anxious and uncomfortable. It was draining for the Captain, while the Sergeant flourished as a social butterfly.

Steve shook his head, even though the knowledge that both his lover and Companion were attending as well made him feel slightly better. “People might talk, Buck, if I don't bring someone.”

“Bring Sam.”

“You hate Sam.”

“I don't hate Sam,” replied Bucky, not a hint of dishonesty or sarcasm in his tone. “He just...” and Bucky mumbled something in a small voice that Steve couldn't catch.

“Didn't hear you there, Buck.”

Bucky crossed his arm, his face set in a rather pouty scowl, before he admitted, “... He makes me jealous sometimes, Stevie.”

“Buck —”

“I know, I know, he's only your friend and holds no romantic interest for you, but he's sharp as a needle and quick-witted and you both are so at each with each other, I...”

Steve felt his heart clench. He and Bucky — despite the obvious differences in their socioeconomic upbringing — had grown up together as the best of friends, and it had developed rapidly into something more after they both left college and Steve returned from the military. They had been together for a little under twenty years, and nothing would tear them apart.

Steve pulled his lover close and pecked Bucky softly on the lips. “You never have to worry about that. I love you too much — _so_ much, that I cannot think straight half the time.”

“Steve, neither of us has ever thought straight,” Bucky couldn't help but tease, and he laughed as Steve gave him a light smack on the shoulder.

“Don't be rude when I'm trying to romance you.”

“I can think of other ways to romance me, _Captain_...”

**~ * ~**

“You're going to a ball?”

“It's called a gala, Little One, but essentially, yes…” Steve said with a small smile. Even after some personal time with Bucky, the Captain was still anxious over the event, but he knew with his love and their Companion by his side, he would make it through. “A business partner of Buck's — and a client of mine — invited us to his Companion's societal introduction.”

Much like debutante balls, societal introductions were meant as a way for members of high society — royals, members of the upper class, anyone of modest to excessive wealth — to formally introduce their Companions to their friends and associates (and, more accurately, brag like hell and show off their own wealth at the same time). It was typically used for a child — or a Companion who'd wed their Keeper — or simply Companions who were of legal age but not ready to date. It was almost always the fall-back for male Companions as well: the Bartons had held societal introductions for the twins, since Wanda had refused flat-out to be a debutante.

(Unbeknownst to their Companion, now that the probationary period was over, it would be expected for Bucky and Steve to hold one for Babydoll — and both men were blatantly avoiding having that conversation with each other.)

“That sounds exciting!”

“I'll be attending as well,” Natasha said calmly, refusing to acknowledge the shocked expression on both Steve's and Bucky's faces, “because I was invited by a friend of ours.”

“You have a suitor?” Bucky said.

“No,” Natasha replied. “Just a friend who did not wish to attend alone.”

“You can bring guests?” Babydoll inquired. After all, she knew often men would bring their wives to such events, and vice versa, but when you were a bachelor or a single woman, having an improper escort could mean scandal.

“Yes. People frequently bring their own friends — or Companions — to show off,” Steve said. “A lot of it is a show of bragging.”

“Which reminds me —” Bucky interrupted, turning towards their Companion, “You and I have an appointment at the seamstress tomorrow afternoon.”

Babydoll's eyebrows came together. “Why, Bucky?”

After all, her wardrobe was still full! So was the dresser of undergarments — though some of them had been disposed of, after being ruined during her monthly bleeding. But over ninety percent of her clothing that Steve and Bucky had purchased for her previously were still in excellent condition. Why purchase more when there was no need?

“Because I'm taking you with me,” he explained, “and as pretty as your clothes are, I want to show you off. Steve and I are going to make others jealous that we have such a pretty Companion.”

Neither Keeper could hide their smiles at the blush that quickly blossomed over her features. Even after a year or so, she still wasn't quite used to accepting compliments about her physical appearance, though they — as well as Natasha — tried their best to break her from the habit.

“It's customary to show off a bit at parties, precious,” Natasha tacked on, seeing how uncomfortable the youngest Companion looked at the attention.

“Who is Steve bringing, then?” Babydoll asked, “If I'm going with you, Bucky?”

“A friend of mine,” Steve said, “His name's Sam. I'll be sure to introduce you to him.”

**~ * ~**

“I just realized: I've never seen your room before, Natasha,” Babydoll said, her voice soft and shocked by what she saw. Following supper, Steve and Bucky had headed upstairs to _get ready for bed_ — though, given the noises coming from Bucky's office, Babydoll knew they were lying and decided against calling them out on it. To avoid thinking about it, especially when a tiny part of her brain — a tiny, very naughty part of her brain — wanted her to try and watch through the keyhole of their door, she had instead gotten into her nightgown and tip-toed over to Natasha's bedroom.

Though it was roughly as the same size as her own, Natasha's bedroom was designed with a more mature air. There were two wardrobes, as well as an enormous dresser, and the younger Companion sat on the bed as Natasha, also in her nightgown, peered through her closet. There was a kaleidoscope of colorful dresses in one wardrobe — great, big, beautiful party gowns, full layers of skirt and intricate threading — while the other held everyday attire. It was obvious that it all belonged to a woman of wealth — rather, unlike her own, a doll to be spoiled — and it could make even the calmest of women turn green with envy.

“They're all so pretty, Nat,” she said in awe, when the displeased furrow between Natasha's brow remained, “You must have attended a thousand parties...”

“I've lost count of how many I've attended, but I've rejected countless more...”

“Why? Aren't parties fun?” After all, why have a party if it wouldn't be fun?

“Sometimes they are,” Natasha said, “The twins' birthday parties each year are quite entertaining, even if they're small. Several woman in my stitching circle hold galas that can be nice... But a majority of parties in our social circle, previous, are meant only for business — and to showcase how wealthy one is.”

Babydoll frowned. “That sounds arrogant. And spoiled.”

“You're not wrong,” Natasha replied, her voice softer. “I try my best to avoid parties such as that... Precious, what are your measurements again?”

Babydoll shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Stand up for me then, for a moment.” As Babydoll hopped off the bed, Natasha pulled out a red gown—full of decorative golden threading and several layers of ruffles—and held it up in front of the smaller Companion. “Hmmm... The hem's a bit long, I think.”

“For what?”

“Nothing,” Natasha said quickly, then she smiled when Babydoll pouted. “Don't pout. You know Steve hates it.”

“Steve's not here. He's in Bucky's office.”

“Cheeky,” Natasha playfully scolded, giving her nose a tap. “It's a surprise, alright?”

“Okay. Can you show me what dress you're wearing to Mr. Stark's gala?”

“The seamstress still has it,” Natasha said, “I'll show you when she sends it along.”

Babydoll looked over Natasha's shoulder and — based on what she could see by a glance — there were already fifteen or so ball gowns in the wardrobe. “Why don't you wear one of those again, instead of hiring the seamstress? It seems like an awful waste, letting them hang there.”

Natasha stroked her hair. “It's expected for ladies in high society to wear different dresses at events such as this. It's frowned upon to wear something again, to another person's gala or party.”

“Isn't that wasteful?”

“Yes,” Natasha said, “but Bucky and I make sure to employ the same seamstress each time, so we are also giving her work that she will need. We pay her well... I do wish I had kept some of my older dresses, but they no longer fit, and Wanda enjoys them. Now, scurry onto bed, before your Keepers catch you out of your room.”

“But I want to stay here — no, no, noooo! I'm going, I'm going!” Babydoll squealed as Natasha started to tickle her sides.

**~ * ~**

Babydoll had never visited a seamstress before. Prior to her parents' deaths, all of her clothes were handmade, or hand-me-downs from her brothers. At the Companion House, clothes were rarely new and constantly altered. Bucky and Steve had handled her new wardrobe months ago on their own, without her aid. She wasn't sure what to expect.

Inside the tiny shop, she immediately understood why someone would take the profession. The room was extremely clean and full to the brim with various fabrics, buttons, hooks, and a rainbow of threads adorning the walls. There were two sewing machines on a nearby long table, and a beautifully decorated screen at the other end of the room. _Wanda would love it here,_ she thought as Bucky closed the door behind them.

“Sergeant Barnes! My best customer!” a lone, female voice called from another room, and from the back, a young Asian woman entered, carrying a large bolt of fabric. She looked only a few years older than Wanda or Pietro. “I'm glad to have you back!”

“Babydoll,” Bucky said, nodding towards the woman, “This is Kate Bishop. Best seamstress in the city — maybe even the whole state.”

“This shop would be the best on the east coast if Clint let his daughter work for me,” Kate said with a wink and a smile as she eased the bolt onto the table.

“You know Clint?” Babydoll asked.

“Of course!” Kate chirped happily. “He's my best friend.”

Bucky snorted in a very ungentlemanly manner and teased, “He thinks you're a nuisance.”

“He's my best friend,” Kate reaffirmed. “He's just a whiny baby because I offered Wanda a job a few years ago when I saw her stitching. What do you need today, Sarge?”

“Stark invited us to a gala —”

“Say no more!” Kate said with a laugh, clapping her hands together eagerly. “How jealous do you want everyone else to be?”

“Obscenely. I want _Stark_ to be jealous.”

Kate's grin somehow became wider and far more mischievous. “Perfect. This is the same ball Natasha's attending on the twenty-sixth?” At Bucky's nod, Kate turned to Babydoll and said, “Why don't you step behind the screen for a moment, and I'll be there in a moment to assist you.”

Babydoll gave Bucky a slightly confused look, but she followed instructions anyway when Bucky seemed nonchalant about the request. Behind the screen, there was a small stool, along with a strange rack of sorts, and a small carpet. She waited there for a moment, before Kate appeared, holding a small pad of paper, a pencil, and measuring tape.

“I apologize,” Kate said softly, her expression and tone sympathetic, “because this might make you feel uncomfortable, and I understand this is your first fitting... but I must ask you to strip down to your undergarments. This allows for your gown to have the best fit.”

The blush that suddenly flushed across Babydoll's face was unavoidable, but she knew that Kate wasn't doing this to specifically humiliate her, so she remained quiet as she (with Kate's assistance) shimmied down to her combo and stockings. The rack, as it turned out, was to hang her clothing so it never touched the floor. Kate remained nothing short of professional, measuring around various parts of the Companion's body and writing down notes during the entire process, and entire process took no more than three minutes. Kate assisted her into getting back into her clothing, minus her shoes, before the seamstress murmured,

“I need to speak with your Keeper for a moment, if you're alright?”

Babydoll nodded: most shoe cobblers had learned to create shoes for Companions that had the popular style, but lacked the necessity for buttonhooks, and hers were no different. Having seen Natasha use buttonhooks each day to change in and out of her footwear, Babydoll did not envy this.

As the young Companion finished up, Kate shuffled over to Bucky with a smile. “The good news is her weight haven't fluctuated too much. An inch here, a half there. Her dress won't be difficult to create.” Then she caught the Sergeant's eye. “What?”

“She's little enough as it is,” Bucky muttered, “Steve mentioned it the other day. She needs to eat more.”

“Your Italian mothering is showing through,” Kate teased. “I've been to your house before, Sarge. I know you feed her well enough.” After all, Kate had made enough house calls for Natasha to know. “Companion Houses give their charges enough food to be healthy. From what I've heard from Natasha, she's very energetic and probably has more than enough exercise to burn off whatever she eats... Besides, if you'd gotten her earlier, then you probably would've seen more of a gain.”

That sounded about right. His doll was constantly on the move, and she'd been at the House since she was a child.

“I'll be sure to get you the dress by the twenty-third. It would be sooner, but if you want to make Stark cry with jealousy, it'll be the twenty-third. If anything's wrong, you know where to find me. Oh! And Natasha's will be done by the nineteenth. She contacted me first.”

“You are a gem, Kate,” Bucky smiled, then he whispered, “If you could hold onto her measurements, I still need a party dress for her. For her birthday. It's in June.”

“Anything for my best client.”

**~ * ~**

Babydoll knew better than to ask Bucky how much the dress cost: she had no way to pay him back, since she was still paying back Pietro, and he wouldn't have allowed her to do so, anyway. But she could take a guess, and it was easily several dollars, if not more, and on the walk home, her curiosity got the better of her.

“Bucky?”

“Yes, Babydoll?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Bucky knew it must be either something deeply personal or potentially embarrassing for his Companion to ask permission first, rather than blurting out her questions. “You may always ask me whatever question you like.”

“Why not go to a department store for a dress?” she asked carefully. “I know it's cheaper than something custom-made, and those shirts I have from Macy's are pretty!”

Bucky smiled tender and stroked her curls as he spoke, “Babydoll, in our circle, that's just not how it's done. It's expected for Stevie and I to have suits, and for you and Natasha to have custom dresses.” When he noticed her frown — he guessed she must have been hearing that excuse frequently as of late — Bucky moved to capture her in his arms to tickle her sides, holding onto her so she couldn't escape. It was unlikely that she could feel it through her corset, but she still giggled anyway. “Besides, I like spoiling you a bit, and you'll be the prettiest one there!”

“But Natasha's going too!”

The Sergeant nodded sagely, before he said in a soft voice, “Would you like to hear a secret?” When she nodded, he continued, “You are the cutest person I have met, and even Natasha will be envious of you on the twenty-sixth.”

Even though a heavy blush came across her features, she still shook her head playfully as a smile came up. “Noooo!”

“Yeeeees,” Bucky teased back. “I'm not taking no for an answer!” And to stem off any sort of playful argument, he grabbed her more firmly around the waist and – polite society and air of decorum be damned – swung her around until she shrieked with laughter.

**~ * ~**

“Steve... I... I don't think I can do this.”

It was rare for Steve to hear _that_ tone from his lover: the tone of absolute worry. Steve was the worrier, the mother hen, the one to dote. Bucky was the cooler head, the longer fuse, slightly less stubborn (but still stubborn). He was not prone to being _afraid._

“Hey, hey. It's alright,” Steve murmured softly. “Breathe. Tell me what's going on.”

Bucky, lying beside Steve in their bed, buried his face in the crook of Steve's neck. “I, I don't think I can attend Stark's gala tomorrow evening.”

Steve was quiet for a moment, before he said tenderly, “Buck, is this because our Little One received her gown from Kate the other evening?” More than anyone else, Steve could understand final-night jitters prior to gala events and, in his case, hearings. But this was something else entirely. Bucky had been his normal, eager self, until the package arrived from Kate Bishop, and it was as if Bucky had shut himself off from talking about Stark's gala. Their little Companion had refused to let either of her Keepers see the dress, for whatever reason, and Steve assumed that might also play a hand in it.

The Sergeant's silence was enough and Steve gave his lover's hand a squeeze.

“Bucky, it's her first society party, and all three of us will be there. She'll never leave our sight.”

“'m not worried that someone will _take_ her, Steve... I. What if she decides to leave us, Steve, after seeing what others can offer?”

Steve frowned. In the darkest parts of his mind, the thought had occurred once or twice: the faint knowledge that, someday, some far off day, their little Companion might desire something _else_ , and leave. But Steve was stubborn as an ox, and it was easy to push that thought into the depths of his mind if he refused to think about it. “Buck. It'll be fine. Stark will try to schmooze you the entire time, and every person will be envious that we have the sweetest Companion alive. Our Little One will enjoy herself, but she won't leave because of it. She's our family, and we're hers.”

**~ * ~**

The morning of the gala, rather than following along with Steve to mass, the littlest member of the house slept in, then took a bath with a great deal of smelling salts and other products that Natasha insisted upon. The whole affair was rather bothersome, in her opinion, but she did smell especially floral after it was over.

“It will help when you're dancing the night away,” Natasha said as she dried the younger Companion's hair with a towel. She had insisted upon doing it, and Babydoll hadn't the heart to tell her no. “You won't smell sweaty.”

To her surprise, rather than either Kathleen or Augustine assisting her, Natasha aided her in getting dressed, because she was already dressed herself. Her dress was a soft pastel purple, heavily embroidered with small flowers and what looked like crystals (but Babydoll knew they weren't: it was just an illusion). In all honesty, even without wearing shoes or makeup or having her hair fully done, Natasha reminded her of a princess.

“You should go without makeup, Natasha,” the little Companion suggested, once Natasha came back into her field of vision after lacing the younger woman's corset. “You look pretty without it.”

Natasha smiled. “Thank you, precious, but it's —”

“Expected,” they said in unison, though Babydoll's tone was more pouty than Natasha's. The redhead tapped the fellow Companion's nose playfully.

“Into your dress with you. Have you seen either of your Keepers yet?”

“No,” Babydoll answered, even though she was lying through her teeth. Well, sort of lying. She hadn't _seen_ them this morning, but after soaking in the tub and donning a housecoat for modesty, she had passed by their room with the intention of saying hello. The noises she'd overheard from within their bedroom — noises which, by _no_ means, were associated with getting dressed for a gala, or any other sort of propriety — had made her face flush, and she'd scuttled into her own room, lest someone catch her in the act of listening.

If Natasha noticed the slight blush running across the younger Companion's face, she didn't comment on it. “Well, they tend to take a while to get dressed. Often longer than I do, so it might be a while before you see them. Hold still. I'm almost done.”

It was about another thirty seconds — which felt rather long, in Babydoll's opinion — before she was allowed to look at herself in the mirror. The dress fit perfectly, and she fell in love with it at once. It was a dark green, with sheer billowly sleeves, embroidery on the bodice, and several layers of ruffles in the skirt. Unlike Natasha's floor-length gown, it stopped at her shins, which allowed more freedom of movement. (It also signaled, without any words, that she was an unwed Companion who wasn't available to be romantically pursued.) Truthfully, she looked like a Barnes princess doll come to life.

“Before you get too pleased with yourself, sit. I have one final surprise for you.” Natasha forced her hands on Babydoll's shoulders and urged her to sit, facing away from the mirror, before she spent several minutes playing with the younger Companion's hair. It was still too sort to pull into the elegant bun that many upper class women wore, but Augustine had tied it with silk the night before, so it would be beautifully curly for the gala. Surely Natasha wouldn't ruin that?

“Aaaaaand — done.”

Babydoll hopped off the chair as if she were on fire, but once she saw herself in the mirror, she couldn't help but stare in awe. It was a crown! A very pretty crown made of many large and colorful flowers, strung together artfully and sturdy so it wouldn't sever — and tied along her curls so it wouldn't fall out accidentally.

“I love it,” Babydoll replied breathlessly. “Oh, Natasha, thank you!”

Natasha hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek, making Babydoll blush heaily, before she suggest, “

“Sam ought to be here soon. Why don't you go downstairs so you can say hello when he arrives? I'll be down shortly.”

**~ * ~**

_Shortly_ turned into a half hour, which Babydoll spent practicing from the book of music the Bartons had gifted her for Christmas. It was definitely more challenging than the hymnals she'd borrowed from the churches, and the sheet music at the Companion House, but she enjoyed the challenge immensely.

Still, she couldn't help but flinch at the sudden, unexpected sound of applause, and Babydoll turned her head to see a stranger in the house. Had he knocked on the door? If he had, she hadn't heard it.

“Are you Sam?”

“I am,” the man said with a charming smile. Rather than be in a suit, he was in an immaculate and heavily decorated Master Sergeant's uniform. He stood roughly at Bucky's height, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes that she liked. She had a feeling there was a reason why Sam was friends with Steve. “And if I'm right, you're Steve's Companion.”

“And Bucky's.”

Same nodded. “You don't mind that one of your Keepers is taking me?”

She shook her head. “No, because Steve would be so lonely otherwise. Who else would he dance with?”

Sam chuckled at that, and the sound of his laughter made her smile. “I'm not much of a dancer, myself. Not at fancy parties, like the one we're going to today. Nobody ever dares play any rag at these things.”

“Rag?” Babydoll's brows came together.

“You've never head any ragtime music?” Sam asked, and when she shook her head, he walked over and sat himself on the bench with her. “May I?”

None of the other residents of the house could play, nor could any of the Bartons, and of the people Babydoll was normally in contact with, Peggy could play — but she disliked doing so. Listening to somebody else play would be a real treat. “Yes, please!”

That's how Steve and Bucky found them, roughly fifteen minutes later: sharing the piano, with each of them making sure that neither squished the other's fingers. It was clear that both were having a grand time — especially Babydoll, after having received a fast introduction to the upbeat and jazzy styling of ragtime music. (And Sam had made it clear that there were many types of rag music, so she would only hear a small portion of it today, which was still quite exciting, in her opinion.) The sight made Steve pleased, knowing that they got along so well, and Bucky slightly envious, for the exact same reason.

“Glad you could come, Sam,” Steve said once they stopped playing, so they wouldn't start up again. “I appreciate it.”

“I'm more than glad to come to your aid. I'm a pro at schmoozing rich guys.”

“Really?”

“Of course. How else would I be your friend?” Sam teased, as Babydoll took in her Keepers' appearances. More often than not, Steve and Bucky dressed in suits for their jobs — or, at the very least, a waistcoat and nice trousers (if it were impractical to wear a suit jacket). But their appearances stretched beyond that. They both had black well-fitted tuxedos, with tails, and Steve had a black bow-tie while Bucky's tie was a normal black one.

“You both look so handsome!” Babydoll couldn't help but chirp, and her smile grew as Steve blushed at her compliment.

“Thank you, Babydoll,” Bucky said, smiling fondly, “And you look breath-taking.” He chuckled when she, too, started blushing. “Nat trick you into wearing that crown?”

“No,” she answered, just as a voice from the hallway stated, _“Yes,”_ and Natasha — now fully ready — appeared with an obvious smirk on her face.

“You should know I always get what I want in the end, James,” Natasha said, then she turned to Sam, “You look dashing, Sergeant Wilson. I'm glad you could grace us with your present.”

“Don't go flirting now, Miss Romanov,” Sam teased back, “Your suitor wouldn't like it.”

“He's not a suitor,” Natasha said calmly. “He is simply a friend whom I'm doing a favor for.”

“You can always admit that your date doesn't exist, Nat.”

Natasha shot an un-amused frown in Sam's direction before heading for the door.

**~ * ~**

To Babydoll's surprise, the “Stark Compound”, as it was nicknamed, was only about twenty blocks away. Rather than rely upon a carriage, especially since it was a nice evening with fair weather, they decided to walk. Considering how any carriages strolled past them during the walk, Babydoll guessed it was atypical for one to walk to a gala, but it was quite enjoyable, in her opinion.

Natasha and Sam teased each other the entire way: it was very sibling-like, with Sam ribbing her about her “suitor – oh, pardon me, your date – wait, wait, your _friend_ ”, while Natasha equally prodded with comments about previous partners (“Have you heard back from Margaret? The one with the freckles? No, wait, that was Emma, or am I thinking about Cora?”). Steve occasionally would tease the two of them, but when they would retaliate in-sync, he would back off. For the most part, he seemed content to listen to Bucky and Babydoll chat quietly, as her Keepers pointed out homes of acquaintances and business partners.

( _“That's Madame Ida's house over there.”_

“ _Who's she?”_

“ _She's a widow, Babydoll. Her husband invested a lot of money into Steve's business when he and Peggy needed to purchase a building for their use.”_

“ _Oh. Have I met her before?”_

“ _I doubt it, Little One. She's a rather... singular individual.”_

“ _Remember our walk down by the dog park last week, precious?” Natasha interjected. “The woman who owned the Pomeranian?”_

“ _That's her? The lady with the huge wart on her upper lip?!”_

Sam and Natasha had burst out laughing, and it hadn't taken long for both Steve and Bucky to follow suit after they failed to scold her about her bluntness.)

As they walked, Babydoll wasn't certain she would be able to tell which house was Stark's until they got there, but she was incorrect. Firstly, there were several carriages lined up towards one building: a clear indication of a party. Secondly, the building was enormous. When she originally went into her Keeper's house, she'd thought it was extravagant... and if her house was extravagant, then this house – this mansion – was so far past extravagant, it was actually _ridiculous_.

“Damn,” Babydoll heard Sam mutter, and he ignored the glare Steve sent his way. “How much is Stark worth again?”

“Over 450 million,” Natasha said, “His businesses are worth more.”

Babydoll had known that Tony Stark owned several businesses: he'd inherited the Companion House, along with two others in New Jersey and Pennsylvania, and a modestly sized estate from Howard Stark, before he'd expanded it drastically. (After all, the newspapers – and girls gossiping at the Companion House, the beauty parlor Natasha went to, women on the streets – constantly spoke about the man.) He owned no less than seven fireworks factories across the country, held a monopoly over 90% of explosives that were imported or exported from the United States, invested several shares in other businesses (including two shares in Bucky's factories), and – supposedly, if rumors were to be believed – had full stock of no less than eight diamond mines.

While it was obvious that Stark was an intelligent man for taking his inheritance and expanding it twenty-fold, all Babydoll could think about were the old tenant apartment her family and the legions of incoming immigrants had resided in prior to their deaths. The rats living in the walls. The vast amount of sickness around her: the coughing from neighbors above and below, eventually coming from her brothers. How little money her parents, and she, had made in the factories. Eating on less than a dollar a week, purchasing vegetables and fruits that were almost brown and bread that was stale. Mr. Stark had a right to be pleased by his money, but what of those with so little? What could be done?

“Are you alright, Babydoll?” Bucky asked, his tone protective but soft, so only she caught his words. It took her a moment that she had been grasping his hand rather hard.

“Uh-huh,” she admitted, though it felt almost like a lie, loosing her grip, before she tacked on, “Don't let go, please.”

“I won't,” he promised, with a kiss to her head. “When we go into the party, if you are ever scared, or bored, just give my hand a squeeze, okay?”

“Okay, but why would I be scared?” She could understand the potentially of being bored. When Bucky brought her to his factories, listening to him drone on and on and on with his business partners could be tiresome, especially if she hadn't been allowed to work on her studies. Although, given how lively the exterior of the mansion appeared, being bored might be off the table.

“Don't tell Steve I mentioned this,” he said softly, “but he often gets anxious during parties such as this, because there are many people and how excessive everything is. Anxiety can often translate into fear. I don't want my sweet little Babydoll to be afraid, alright?”

“Alright.”

_Excessive_ didn't even begin to cover it, once they got inside. _Abhorrently decadent and bourgeois_ was a far better description. There were people _everywhere_ , each dressed to the nines, and were she not holding Bucky's hand, Babydoll would be concerned about losing Bucky in it all. Luckily, they had gotten in with no hardship – though the man at the door had frowned severely at the sight of Sam – and Bucky carefully made work of getting the group down the main hallway, away from the entrance.

Piece of artwork were tucked into every corner. Several paintings – colorful, bright, and some quite scandalous – hung on the wall. The ceiling and floor molding were elaborate, and it appeared as if someone had painted the ceiling to resemble artwork as well. The dark wallpapers hanging on the wall made the entryway seem smaller than it probably was.

“Don't get so overwhelmed so quickly,” Steve – who stood comfortingly on the side unoccupied by Bucky – said. “Stark loves to show off his decor, and he'll talk for hours if he sees you gaping.”

“And this is just the entry hall,” Bucky commented wryly. “It's bigger everywhere else in the house.”

Ohhhh, then being overwhelmed was definitely a possibility for her this evening. How could someone live in a house that was some sort of mansion / museum hybrid? She would be terrified of running in the house, or even walking down the hall – or breathing, because something might break. She held tightly onto Bucky's hand as she was guided into several hallways and finally into an enormous ballroom. There were already plenty of people mingling, and she felt her stomach growl when she caught a wiff of the scents coming from a long table of drinks.

Steve chuckled at the noise, and Babydoll pressed her hand over her stomach to quiet it, should it decide to speak further.

“Little One, do you see that painting over there? Of the woman in the pink dress, on the swing?”

“Yes, Steve.”

“Bucky and I are going to stand over there, if you wish to have some punch for yourself.”

“Won't it have alcohol though, Steve?” While the age of alcohol consumption in New York was 18, in certain districts, Companions were required to stay dry – or wait until they were 21 (or, in some cases, 25).

Bucky shook his head. “No. There will be something for everyone, over there. His heir is too young to drink as well, so he will make sure there is variety for all.” Then he grew serious for a moment. “Did you want Steve or I to go with you?”

She shook her head. She could see a clear pathway towards the table, and if her Keepers were going to be by the painting, she would return to them posthaste. “No, I'll be fine. Would you like anything?”

Both men smiled, but shook their heads, and she scuttled off to the drinks table.

There were several well-dressed servants standing behind what seemed to be a series of several long tables, each heavily laden with drinks of all colors and sizes, as well as multiple desserts. Steve had mentioned something about a banquet later on in the evening, so it made sense that there were smaller foods to nibble on.

Still, with all sorts of delicious foods in front of her, Babydoll suddenly couldn't think. What should she get? There were cookies with and without frosting, several types of cupcakes and smaller cake slices, some meaty and cheese hors d'oeuvres...

Just pick something, a small part of her brain said, but she couldn't, so instead, she took a quick glance around the room. She didn't immediately recognize anybody, but after a second, she found Sam walking about, chatting with various people until he stumbled upon another tall man, who was also black and in military uniform. If the way they greeted each other meant anything, then Sam had met him previously. She could also see that Natasha had found her date, and – Bruce! Dr. Banner was her date!

Wait. _Bruce_? How had Bruce been invited to this gala?

“Excuse me,” a well-dressed, tall woman spoke, slipping past Babydoll to pick up a small hors d'oeuvre, and in an instant, all of Babydoll's hunger vanished and was replaced with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Her jaw dropped.

_“Amelia?!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to an article by Forbes, Tony Stark's personal net worth was listed at 12.5 billion in 2017, which roughly equals $462,528,670 in 1907 money. Likewise, Babydoll had mentioned eating – for a family of five – on $1 week (which was normal for families in tenement apartments). That is about $26.81 in 2018 U.S dollars.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is essentially me playing around with the Edwardian period, while making as many Marvel jokes and fluff at the same time. There will eventually be Natasha/Reader, and Bucky/Reader/Steve, but not all four together. This is also a bit of a slow burn fic. Please be aware.


End file.
